For Want of the Sun
by Otoshigo
Summary: So you know those typical Hollywood vampires? The ones that are all black and, dear god, sparkly? With flashy houses and cars, with tons of money from their ancient treasures? ...Yeah, that's not me. Vampire!America; USUK (Renamed from Real Life of a Vampire. M for cursing, lemon, violence, character death.)
1. Prologue

Prologue

So you know those typical Hollywood vampires? The ones that are all black and _dear god_ sparkly? With flashy houses and cars, with tons of money from their ancient treasures.

Yeah, that's not me.

The name's Alfred Jones and I'll probably be the most disappointing vampire that you will ever meet. S'all good though, since the very idea of living in a coffin or dank old castle without any _internet_ sounds like the most horrible thing you could ever do to anyone. Granted, the Internet only came out in a minuscule amount of time relative to my lifespan, but it's been a serious game changer. Up until then, I was practically a vagrant living in the streets and feeding off society's undesirables. I didn't have a home, friends, an identity. And I sure as shit didn't have some vast fortune that I could live off of and bribe blood donation employees with.

Now I don't have to worry about getting supplies during daylight hours, I can work from home, I can be social. It's awesome.

And one of those very awesome things was MySpace. Yes, kids, I've been around that long. Still, it was nice to act, well, normal with humans again, without feeling the urge to suck the life out of their veins. A steady supply of illicit home-delivered blood packets helped, a lot. But having the temptation removed entirely helped distinguished chattel from personality.

I "met" Arthur Kirkland when he was thirteen years old. He really was a cute kid with awesome taste in music. That's how it started out, chatting about The Clash and The Ramones. By the time that we switched from MySpace to Facebook, we had been corresponding daily for years through chat rooms, emails and sms. He grew up smart and witty, handsome and successful. I clung to that, living vicariously through him. He didn't mind. I told him I had some sort of disease that wouldn't let me go outside of the house very easily. He liked to tell me that he'd live for the both of us. Now he was a world renowned author, who had traveled all over the globe. I would have been jealous if I didn't care for him so dearly. And I would never, ever be able to meet him.

Besides, what did I really have to offer him? I was some anti-social loser who lived in the basement (actually, it was my house, I just rented out the top to people), who never got out except to work at my part-time night job at McDonald's so that I didn't turn into a complete hikikomori. Plus I looked like I was nineteen. Adult when I was conceived, but still a child nowadays. Arthur was... not nineteen.

It's okay, I could deal with it. Humans die all the time. It just happens. Never mind that I couldn't figure out how to sneak over to England with all these newfangled modes of transportation to turn him - too many chances to get exposed to sunlight. Plus I sucked at turning people. (Vampire joke, har-har.) But seriously, I sucked. I practiced on people and just got a bunch of nasty mindless ghouls. So no, no turning Arthur into a vampire for me... All I could really do was just continue existing, living off of Arthur's messages, hoping he didn't croak any time soon.

Like I said, I'm probably the most disappointing vampire you'd ever meet.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

~o~

_How's your day going?_

Alfred glanced at the text in his phone. Usually, he didn't have all that much to say, but today was different. He'd gotten his programming work done early, since he was going to have to greet a new tenant today. His old one, Kiku, had been a pretty awesome roomie. Quiet, didn't ask too many questions, great taste in video games. But one could only have humans around for so long before things got a bit too awkward.

So Honda Kiku out. A Mr. Doyle in. Alfred didn't know too much about the guy, except that he was actually able to pay the $10k a month that he wanted for his little brownstone house without even having a look about. That was a lot of money. He might even get enough to live comfortably for a bit after Doyle moved out.

_Fine, _Alfred typed in, _I'm getting a new tenant today. Hope he's nice._

He waited by the door, wondering how he should greet his new tenant. There was the obvious issue of age. Maybe he could pass himself off as a trust-fund kid who had fallen on hard times. Might explain his nocturnal tendencies. He checked his reflection, a sickly pale face fringed with blond hair with glasses to shield his eyes from the strain of staring at the computer too long. He adjusted his button up shirt, smoothing out his pants. Yeah, he definitely looked like he pull off pasty, down and out, blue-blood.

He probably didn't need to worry. Doyle didn't seem the talkative type so he didn't worry about too many questions. His emails were always very curt, but polite. If only he didn't come in the middle of the day...

The buzzer sounded, making Alfred jump mid-yawn. He quickly turned to the door, seeing the outline of the figure on the other side of the frosted glass. He pulled on his gloves and rolled down his sleeves and touched the handle carefully, opening up the door and staying in the shadows. Pulling on his most winning smile, he said brightly, "Hi, you must be-" Alfred froze. And stared.

Arthur Kirkland. Arthur _-fucking- _Kirkland, in all his British glory, was standing in his front door.

Arthur stared back at him, mouth agape. "I- you-" he said, clearly just as speechless. Oh he'd grown up handsome, both slender and masculine with the same choppy blond hair he had when he was little, looking like he popped right out of a Burberry catalog. And those eyes. Those green eyes. Pictures didn't do them justice. ...But he was so _old._ He must be _thirty_ now.

There was no point now in trying to pretend that Alfred had no idea who he was. It was also clear that Arthur remembered the one (goddamned) picture Alfred shared with him over MySpace. The only things that changed were his clothes and the glasses. Obviously, not enough to keep the other man from recognizing him. Seriously, how did this _happen?_

Thinking quickly, Alfred stuck out his hand, all charm and nonchalance. "Mr. Kirkland. I definitely didn't expect you. Is Doyle your alias? I should have known. It was kind of obvious."

Numbly, Arthur took his hand and shook it. "I- I'm sorry, I was supposed to-" he stammered, still a bit flummoxed. "Are you- Do you have any relation to Alfred Jones?"

Alfred gave a little bow with a flourish of his hands. "Alfred Jones III, at your service."

"The third," Arthur repeated slowly, looking a little less confused but no less consternated.

Alfred gestured to Arthur's things. "Shall I help you with your bags?" he asked, gesturing to the author's suitcases. Without waiting for a reply, he pulled the suitcases in and settled them by the door. "Is this all you have?"

"I, er- your advertisement," Arthur said, recovering just a little bit. He stepped inside, letting Alfred close the door behind him. "You said it was fully furnished?" His eyes glanced over to the decor, matching the interior to the pictures that Alfred posted online. Alfred wasn't very fussy with furniture, mostly eccentric flea market stuff. "Also, I have something coming from- _Alright_, do you have a father, an uncle?" he asked, finally hitting on the conclusion that Alfred hinted at.

"Yes, I have a dad," Alfred said in bemusement. "Huge fan of yours. I'm guessing you're acquainted."

Arthur frowned at him, then checked his phone. Ah _shit_, Alfred totally forgot about that. His hand casually slipped into his back pocket and silenced his phone. Just in time as he felt it buzz with Arthur's reply. Well, he definitely wasn't going to answer it now. "Is your... Is your father around?" Arthur asked, still furiously typing in his phone.

Alfred felt terrible about all this. But he'd lied about himself for his whole life. It was a matter of survival. Plus it wasn't going to help Arthur any to know what he actually was. "Nope, he's abroad. Business trip actually. He's usually not around," he added ruefully.

_Lies upon lies upon lies..._

Paint himself a liar. The bad guy. He had to break Arthur's heart. It would hurt him more than Arthur in the end. "Um, could I offer you something to drink?" he offered, gesturing to the couch. "My last tenant left a lot of tea behind. I think I have some matcha?"

"_Yes_," Arthur said, looking a bit relieved at the offer. "Tea would be lovely. Thank you." He sat himself down on the couch, putting down his bag and glaring at his phone. He was holding it so tight in his fingers it was shaking.

Alfred quickly headed down to the basement to fetch the tea. As soon as he put a kettle on, he went to his phone. There were already several texts from Arthur. And an email. And some Facebook messages. Oh jeez, that one was a post to his wall with a picture of his house saying _GUESS WHAT_.

Honestly, out of context, he couldn't tell if Arthur was excited or irate. But the human up there was pure, pulsing anger. Wincing, Alfred checked his texts.

_How's your day going?_

_Fine. I'm getting a new tenant today. Hope he's nice._

_Oh funny thing you should mention that._

_IM the tenant._

_And since when did y have a son? When were u going to tell me about this? _

_& wha was that bs about not being able to leave the house? Ur son told me ur on goddamned bznss trip!_

Ah shit. Arthur only messed up his texts when he was incredibly pissed. Alfred felt sick to his stomach and he could feel his determination to play the bad guy crumbling. He didn't _want_ Arthur to think he was the bad guy. There was a reason for all the lies. A good one! One he'd never be able to tell Arthur. It wasn't fair!

The kettle screeched for his attention, so he pulled it off and made Arthur a cup of matcha green tea. Unable to bring himself to answer any of the texts, he slowly brought the cup back upstairs to the living room. "Um, here's your tea..." he said, putting the cup down in front of Arthur on the low table.

"Thank you," Arthur said curtly, giving his phone one last glare before he chucked it disgustedly away from him. His green eyes flit up to Alfred's, studying him closely. "So, do you live here? The lease agreement mentioned that the owner lived below," he asked, forcing himself to make polite conversation. Alfred was relieved that Arthur was limiting his anger purely to his virtual Alfred.

The false-teen nodded, rubbing a hand awkwardly over his elbow. "Yeah, it's um... My dad's house. I promise I'm pretty quiet. Keep to myself. No parties or anything. I only go out at night, actually. I work at the, um, McDonald's a couple blocks down."

Wow, way to make himself sound super hip. Did the kids still use that word, hip?

Arthur took the cup of tea, taking a small sip. His green eyes glanced over to Alfred's long sleeves and gloves. "Is there something wrong with your skin?"

Alfred blinked. "Oh ...sun allergy." He pulled off his gloves. "Guess I don't need these in here. Sorry." He showed off his pale hands, fingers calloused from his inordinate time on the computer.

However, Arthur's gaze seemed to soften at that. "That sounds very difficult," he said, taking another sip of his drink. "Thank you for the tea. It's quite good. In any case, I think I should probably get settled... Do you have keys for me?"

"Oh, right! Duh," Alfred said with a sheepish grin. He went over to the side table and returned with the little welcome packet. "Here's a copy of the lease agreement, bank information for the rent. Keys to the front and the back doors."

"And guests?" Arthur prompted.

"Guests?" the vampire echoed stupidly. "Oh, I don't really have guests."

"No, I mean, my guests," Arthur pressed, though he kept his tone gentle. "I thought I might have a housewarming party. Is that alright?"

Alfred stared. He had never even considered that any tenants might want parties. Honestly, he should have, since they had the run of the three-story house. Plus Arthur was a little bit of a party animal. He should have remembered. "I guess that's alright. Forewarning might be nice." He'd need to keep himself nice and fed before having a horde of people over to keep the Want suppressed.

It occurred to him just then that he'd have to keep up this ridiculous charade with Arthur for months. He needed to be prepared. He wasn't used to getting his lies fact-checked against his other lies. Gah, humans were so difficult!

"How old are you?" Arthur suddenly asked. He immediately backtracked when he realized how impertinent his words were. "Ah, I mean, you don't need to answer that," he said with a flush. "I apologize. I am somewhat overwhelmed."

Alfred shook his head and sat down across from the author. "It's okay," he said, still trying to mentally file through the years of correspondence he'd had with Arthur. What other inconsistencies could he stumble over? "I'm nineteen."

"And... Your father?" Arthur asked slowly.

Alfred let out a bark of laughter. "Wow, you sure know how to get awkward quick," he said, as Arthur blushed. "My dad was sixteen when he had me. Raised me on his own. Works as a programmer." He could see Arthur doing the mental calculations. It meant that "Alfred Senior" was 35 now. More importantly, he was an eighteen year old with a two year old when he started talking to Arthur. Motive enough to keep a little baby a secret from a thirteen year old boy.

Alfred wasn't sure how he'd explain away the lie about not being able to leave the house, but he'd come to that when Arthur asked. (Which he already did, didn't he? Shit.) "So how do you know my dad?" he asked, trying to draw the questions away from himself. Easy way to deter the interrogation for a little while.

"I've known him for seventeen years," Arthur replied, unable to keep his eyes from his phone. "He's been a good friend..." He turned his attention back to Alfred. "My apologies for my rudeness earlier," he said and he sounded sincere this time. "As I said, I was a bit overwhelmed. I never expected a meeting like this. You see, I had expected that I would never meet your father in person. Nor did I ever know that he had a son. I was just a bit taken aback. However, I see no reason why we should not get along." He suddenly smiled. "If you're anything like your father, I think it will be very likely that we should be friends as well."

Alfred thought that if he still had a heart, it might be beating harder now. However, he felt a smile come onto his features instead. "That would be really nice," he said softly. Yet at the back of his mind, he still wondered how he could possibly keep this up. Should he cut his losses now and kick Arthur out?

No, definitely not. How would he ever get an opportunity like this again? To be with his dearest friend, if only for a little while. (Plus the _money_!) He would make it work, somehow. Not because he had to, but because he _wanted_ to. Maybe upsetting his boring little existence wasn't the worst thing in the world.

~o~

_Alfred,_

_I apologize for all of the angry texts (and email and posts) earlier. It was just a bit of a shock. I understand now why you kept your son a secret. It must have been incredibly difficult to raise him so young. I would not have been able to understand that level of responsibility when I was younger. I don't know why you told me all the things you did, but it's in our nature to lie online, isn't it? I'm disappointed, but I understand. For what it's worth, he seems like a nice boy. You raised him well._

_Now that we have this all swept under the rug, it would be nice to finally meet you in person. Remember, I know where you live._

_Yours, _

_Arthur_

Huddled in bed, Alfred stared at the email on his phone, reading it over and over again. He didn't know how he was supposed to answer it. His "father" could never meet Arthur in person. Ever. Sighing, he responded with some derpy "yeah, that's great!" and left it alone at that for now. He didn't expect a reply right away. Predictably, their messages had been a bit strained as of late. Strange that now that Arthur was living upstairs, he felt further from him than ever.

Arthur had been settling in for a couple weeks now. He worked from home, being a writer and everything, but he liked to keep himself up in the attic. He said the dusty place had character. He'd been quiet up until now, keeping to himself, but Alfred supposed that he must have been being polite.

Now he could hear punk rock thrumming upstairs, footsteps from Arthur's party guests, laughter and wine glasses. Apparently, being a famous author made you a lot of friends. Or at least made your party the place to be.

Groaning, he rolled over on his twin and pulled a pillow over his head. His Want was heavy now, despite how much cold blood filled him. Old Red Cross donations would never be a perfect substitute for the real thing. His teeth ached, dry veins heaving for want of the delicious warm blood pumping above him. Damn Arthur. Damn him for tempting him.

The door to his basement suddenly flung open, laughter and movement spilling into his stairwell. Alfred looked up, his pupils as sharp as a cat's. "Oh! Sorry!" a young drunk human called from the top of the stairs. "We thought this was empty!" She and her companion let out a small gasp as the vampire blurred into being in front of them. His clawed fingers wrapped around her arms, his hunter pheromones making the both of them compliant.

"What do you think you're doing!" came a familiar sharp voice. Alfred immediately recoiled, retracting his claws and shrinking back. Arthur stood behind the pair, his anger like burning glory. "I told you the basement was off-limits! Now get the fuck out of my house, you pissed arses!" Pulled out of the influence of Alfred's pheromones, the pair nodded quickly and left the range of Arthur's wrath.

Arthur quickly turned back to Alfred. "Are you quite alright?" he asked, stepping closer. "I truly apologize, I did not mean for anyone to disturb you."

"No, wait-" Alfred said, too late as Arthur stepped right in range of his hunter pheromones. Arthur froze, his already flushed cheeks growing warmer with arousal. His pupils blew wide as his body took in the greatest aphrodisiac it would ever experience. Alfred grabbed him by the arms before Arthur tried to come any closer. His breath grew shallow, teeth painful as they elongated. "No, no," he hissed, pressing his face against Arthur's chest. Better his pecs than his neck. "Just walk away. Please walk away."

"Ohohoho~" came an unfamiliar voice behind them. "Rosbif, you did not tell me you were living with such a pretty little zing." Apparently, this threat was enough to nudge Arthur out of Alfred's unintentional pull. Arthur spun around, his arm wrapped protectively around Alfred's shoulders.

"Everything in the basement is off-limits," Arthur growled, his eyes narrowing. "Including him."

"Ah, but he iz not in ze basement iz he?" the Frenchman replied, flipping his blond hair over his shoulder. He held out his hand beckoning Alfred closer. "Now come, pretty zing. Let me look at you."

Wow, he _really _didn't know who he was messing with. And why did Arthur invite people over that annoyed him? The vampire narrowed his eyes. Perhaps he should take care of the situation...

"It's okay," Alfred said, pulling himself out of Arthur's grip. Arthur was tense behind him, possibly from the residual effects of the scent on him. Or maybe it was genuine concern. Alfred looked up to the Frenchman and let loose. His eyes grew sharp and hypnotic, his pheromones wafting off of him in waves. He knew even without looking that he held everyone's attention on the ground floor. It was an exhilarating reminder of how much power he could have over humankind. "What's your name?" he asked the Frenchman lightly.

"Francis," the Frenchman wheezed.

Smirking, Alfred waved him down towards his lair. "Francis. Come with me." Eagerly, the Frenchman did so, leaving a host of bewildered partygoers to fade out of the trance of the lingering scent.

~o~

The next evening, Alfred could still hear Arthur groaning in pain all the way from the ground floor. Damn, the author wasn't kidding about how much he could party. It was really kind of funny.

Alfred felt very, very good, but he didn't want to think about it. Not now.

The vampire padded around the messy house, sidestepping all the bottles and looking for any signs of damage. Arthur did put down a safety deposit, but it really only went so far. Ugh, was that vomit in the kitchen sink? Ew... He heard a sound up from above, like blankets and shuffling feet. "Oh hey, you're up finally," he grinned brightly up at Arthur's miserable figure at the top of the stairs.

"Don't-" Arthur said, waving inarticulately at the vampire. He really looked like he was going to keel over at any minute. Sure, the side effects of being slammed with vampire pheromones weren't great, but it was obvious that booze was the major player. "Don't pick anything up. I already ordered a cleaning service. They'll take care of it."

Alfred arched an eyebrow. Wow, he certainly had money to burn. "I hope you tip them well," he remarked, turning to head to the door.

"Wait!" the author cried out, making himself wince. Nonetheless, he came down to the ground floor to look Alfred face to face. "Look, I'm very sorry about what happened. I hope that Francis didn't cause too much trouble. Please don't tell your father about this."

Oho, this was interesting. It sure explained the complete lack of texts he usually got from Arthur after a big to-do. Alfred smiled wanly at him. "He won't find out from me," he promised. "Anyway, I need to get to work. I'll see you later, yeah?"

"Do you need a ride?" Arthur asked suddenly, which made the vampire blink.

"No, it's okay," Alfred said. "You don't look like you can go anywhere." He gave the author a wicked grin. "I'll bring back a whole lot of bacon burgers for you." When Arthur turned greener, he laughed aloud and left.

~o~

Working the nightshift at his local McDonald's was a pretty mindless job. However, tonight it was particularly painful. Usually they had at least a few frat kids or drunks wandering in for something to eat or crazy homeless people that made Alfred cringe at old memories. Now, there was not a one to distract him. Nothing to keep his mind off of how he could taste and feel how close his co-workers were. It was like buzzing swarms behind him, impossible for him to ignore. He'd gotten a taste for fresh blood again.

Damn it, he'd been so good for _years_. He hadn't had a drop of human blood since even before he'd had Kiku as his tenant. Fresh human blood wasn't a necessity to survive, but oh how _delicious_ it was. It was the only thing that made life worth living when he was dirty and homeless, feeding that awful, dangerous addiction. He was no better than a crackhead and many times more deadly. Since then he'd been good. He'd been clean.

Now though, all it took was for that Frenchman last night to throw himself at him to give in to his compulsion. He'd barely managed to stop himself from killing the man, dumping him discreetly in some bushes by the hospital instead. Arthur _knew_ Francis, knew that Francis was at his party, likely remembered Francis making a pass at him. It would have been unbelievably stupid to drain him for dead.

That didn't stop the Want from rearing its ugly head, as the fresh blood's effects began to diminish. It was back now. No, it was always there, but quiet. Now it buzzed in his ears, made his teeth ache, primed all his senses for the purposes of hunting. He _needed_ blood.

_No!_ No, he didn't need it. He got along fine without it. Blood donations were _fine._ They were _safe._ Shit, he was so _hungry._ Groaning, he let his head sink into his hands, acutely aware that Maria was coming up behind him.

"¿Alfred? ¿Cómo estás?" the plump middle-aged woman asked. She really was a sweetheart, worked two jobs, had a nice family. Now though it was difficult to see her as anything but a meatbag. "You look sick, mijo."

Oh, he was sick. So very sick. "I think I need to go home," Alfred said, knowing he was cold and clammy. "Sorry, can you tell Patel? I don't think I can take my shift tomorrow either."

"Si, si," Maria said, her face effecting concern. "Of course, mijo. You go on home and get some rest. We can handle it."

"Gracias," Alfred said with a weak smile, pushing himself away from the cashier and back to the employee room to get his things. He needed to go home. Hide himself in his basement and just go cold turkey. He wanted to text Arthur. Arthur was so good at keeping him out of a bad way...

...Arthur was at home. _Shit!_

No, no way. He had to stay away from there. He couldn't risk Arthur getting hurt. His head snapped over to the sound of an engine. Some drunk human pulling up and getting some food it looked like. He blurred over to her. "Give me your keys," he hissed, his sharp eyes entrancing her. The woman complied immediately, handing over her car keys.

_ .noonewouldnoticehergone._

Alfred kicked her out and then sped his way along to Coney Island Hospital.

He whipped out his phone and dialed a number long memorized. "Ivan," he whispered. "Ivan, I need your help."

~o~

When Alfred arrived at the hospital, Ivan was already waiting for him in the back, hands in the pockets of his white lab coat as he looked sternly at the car as Alfred pulled up. He was an enormous man with the usual slavic features, cool calculating eyes, and premature grey hair. That said, Alfred wasn't really sure how old the man was, if he really was a man at all.

The Russian gave him a disapproving look. "Vhat happened?" he demanded. "You are addicted again, da?" Alfred looked down guiltily as he approached.

"It was just one and he's not even dead," the vampire replied, feeling comfortable in coming up close to Ivan. No smell or taste of human blood. "Ivan, please... please help? My roommate had a party and it just- _happened_. I didn't mean to do it..." he pleaded, looking up at the older man. Back when Alfred was trying to get out of his rut, Ivan helped him out. He locked Alfred down in a shipping container for months, gave him a supply of stolen blood pouches, and wouldn't let him out again until Alfred stopped scratching madly against the metal doors when Ivan brought a human around.

"You are veak," Ivan sighed. "Zat is ze problem vit your kind. Like drug addicts." Alfred didn't bother arguing. It was true. "However, you did not kill yet. I vill give you anozer chance." He waved Alfred over to his Buick. "I vill take you to same place. Hopefully, it vill not take as long zis time."

"Thank you," the vampire muttered quietly as he got into the back of the car. "Oh, um, could you also go to my house? There's... a man there. His name's Arthur. Can you just tell him that I'm going to be away for a little while?" Alfred didn't dare look to see what expression Ivan held. The Russian was quiet for a very long time.

Finally, "Da."

~o~

Arthur paced the living room again, too worried to get to work and continue writing. It had been three days since he'd had any contact with Alfred, ever since the boy had left to do his shift at McDonald's. He'd asked around there, but apparently Alfred had taken off early because he was feeling ill. However, he held off on calling the police so far, trying to tell himself that Alfred was just a nineteen year old boy. Maybe he'd just skived off work and was off with his friends. It was New York after all. Arthur had been that wild when he was young in London.

Except he felt _responsible _for the boy's welfare. It wasn't exactly what he signed up for when he signed that lease. He was by no means a model for decent human behaviour. He'd never been inclined to look after another living being in his entire life. Even his relationships were just brief flings before he got bored with them. Maybe that was why he was perfectly content to keep his most valuable relationship virtual indefinitely. Now though, his best friend's son was _missing_ and he didn't have the slightest idea what to do.

"Damn it," he cursed, picking up the phone. He'd been sitting indecisively on this for too long. He had to call the police.

Suddenly, the door buzzed, making Arthur jump in his skin. He dashed over to the door, hoping that he'd find Alfred just behind it. However, what he found instead was a huge, looming slavic man. The sight of him immediately sent chills down Arthur's spine as if he knew that there was something inherently wrong with his very existence. _There you go with your overactive imagination again,_ Arthur chided, straightening up as he greeted his visitor. "Can I help you?"

"You are Arzur, da?" the man said in a heavy Russian accent.

"Yes...?" Arthur replied, hiding his nervous suspicion. What on earth would this man want with him? His mind immediately went to his missing roommate. Was this fellow holding him ransom? He certainly looked the unsavoury type of bloke. Mafia?

"I come on behalf of Alfred," the man said, confirming part of Arthur's suspicions. "He is in rehabilitation. He vill be avay." Then with that, the slav began to depart.

Wait. What?! "Hold on a minute!" Arthur cried out, unable to accept this crude explanation. "Rehabilitation? What center is he in? And what is he supposed to be addicted to?" He jogged down the steps, catching up and blocking the man's path. "You can't expect that I should leave this alone just like that!"

The slav looked down at him with his chilling gray -almost violet- eyes. Instead of answering, he asked instead, "You are close to Alfred?"

Arthur's enthusiasm sputtered a bit at that. "Yes- well, _no_," He sounded a bit daft being so worried over someone he'd barely known for a fortnight. "However, he is important nonetheless. I need to know that he is in good hands for my own peace of mind."

The slav regarded him with some incomprehensible look. Finally, he said, "He is addicted to substance from party." The words knocked the very ground from under Arthur's feet and he felt a little faint. _Holy hell._ From _his _party. This was _his_ fault.

"I am doctor," the slav assured him curtly, his huge hand coming to the swaying author to steady him. "I vill be taking care of him. Zis has happened before."

"I... I see," Arthur said weakly. "Is there any way that I can see him? Or talk to him?" Though now he was doubting that he should. Didn't he do enough damage already? Would Alfred even be interested in speaking with him?

"...I vill see if he is villing," the slav doctor replied. He gave a short bow of his head. "Good day, Arzur." With that he finally left. Only when the Russian was out of sight did Arthur realize that he never got the man's name.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

~o~

The low horn of a ship boomed low in the distance, breaking up the soft sounds of waves lapping against concrete. Ivan and his companion stood in front of the cargo crate along the abandoned dock, their breath puffing in the cold night air. "Eduard, идти," the Russian ordered, pushing his companion forward. Eduard pushed his square glasses up, a nervous habit, and slowly stepped towards a lone shipping container.

An eerie silence followed as Eduard held his breath. After a long tense moment, he spoke softly, "It's sa-"

A scream, like a banshee shriek, echoed from the container, so unworldly it could freeze blood. The doors slammed and rattled, bulges appearing in the metal as the monster within threw itself into the wall.

Eduard quickly fled back to Ivan's side, his racing heart not likely helping matters. Ivan heaved a long sigh into the pink scarf wrapped around his neck. "Not yet. Another veek. приехать, Eduard" He turned away from the cargo crate back to their car, ignoring the howls echoing behind them.

~o~

Arthur stared at his empty screen, trying to will the words to come to mind. Yet all he could think of was a certain blue-eyed blond. It had been an entire month since he laid eyes on Alfred. There was one brief call to establish life, but Alfred sounded so miserable that he didn't keep him for very long. Riddled with guilt, Arthur was driven to distraction. To the point that his publishers were getting quite annoyed at him for his lack of progress.

Tapping on the space key, he sighed and took a swig of wine. Alcohol was a lubricant for creativity, wasn't it? However, he found himself with an empty glass and a tapped out bottle. Growling, he tossed the bottle into the trash and mentally tried to file through the wines he still had in the house. That may have been his last one. He considered going down to the corner store to buy something cheap, but he'd be wandering about slightly tipsy in the middle of the day. That was no way to appear in public.

Did Alfred have anything? Arthur glanced down at the attic stairs. Surely, a boy such as himself would have something down there. Besides, shouldn't he dedicate himself to clean living once he returned from rehab? He was doing the boy a favour. Before he had fully decided on his course, he was already heading down the stairs. He did take pause in front of Alfred's door, realizing that perhaps this was a step too far.

Yet screaming over his conscience was his curiosity. How did the boy live down there? Was that where his own Alfred lived as well when he was in town? Were there pictures of the pair of them? Were he sober, he wouldn't dare think of going down, but he _wasn't_ so...

Arthur pushed open the basement door and stumbled down the dark stairwell, fumbling for some lights. The fluorescent lamps flickered on overhead, casting the living area in an eerie blue glow over the small living space. It looked disappointingly sparse. IKEA furniture was a bit of a theme with a computer desk, couch and entertainment center. There was a miniscule area for cooking, just a sink and a tabletop kerosene stove. Honestly, how did he manage to cook anything on that? Did he just subsist on ramen or mac n' cheese? The fridge was a decent size and Arthur assumed there would be a stash of beer in there. Likely something horrible like Bud or PBR. A last resort then.

His green eyes swept over to the sleeping space. Just the twin bed tucked off in a spare closet of a room. Odd. Then perhaps his Alfred didn't live here? Unless that couch pulled out into a sleeper when he was in town? He crouched down by the sofa, tugging up cushions to see if he could find some sort of handle or hidden compartment. No, didn't look like it.

Another thing that struck him was the complete lack of personalization. Not a picture, not a poster. Not anything to indicate Alfred's interests. There were a couple game consoles though and a wide variety of video games and movies. At least Alfred was typical in that respect. Perhaps all his other interests were all on the computer, but even tipsy he knew that sneaking around on someone's desktop was a bit too far.

Inevitably, his eyes went to the bed again. Was that where Alfred took care of Francis? Was Francis the one who had dosed Alfred with whatever drug he was addicted to? The very thought made Arthur ill. The last he had heard, Francis had just gotten out of hospital. It seemed that all suspicions pointed to him. And here he was trying to nick some wine from his victim, some poor, hard-on-his-luck drug addict, who was his friend's son no less. Not for the first time, Arthur pondered his life decisions and found himself wanting.

Sinking to the floor, he sighed and looked over the small dwelling. He'd lived in places like this, back when he was a starving artist, young and irresponsible. To be honest, not a lot had changed since then. Now his carefree lifestyle had essentially ruined someone's life.

His eyes went to the bed again. Something niggled at the back of his mind, hazy drunken memory coming back from that party weeks ago. He remembered being wrapped up in desire, a warm body pressed up close against him. He remembered watching Alfred heading down some stairs with Francis hand-in-hand. Something about that thought triggered the nausea again, but then something new - no, something forgotten.

Sharp, blood-curdling jealousy.

_The fuck-?_ Arthur wondered, even as his body shivered with the dark emotion. He crawled along the floor, coming closer to the bed, where the deed must have been done. The sensation was only getting stronger. Something about the _smell..._

But it didn't make any _sense._ He barely knew the boy. Was it that he looked so much like his Alfred? But they were not one in the same. Not to mention, the boy was _nineteen_ for God's sake. Yet he couldn't shake off that sudden overwhelming _want_ that was overrunning his senses. He pressed his nose against the side of the bed, breathing in and feeling his body growing warm. Christ, he was getting _hard._

A crash sounded from above, making Arthur bolt up to his feet, heart pounding. A cat flitted past the window and Arthur rightly concluded that it must have knocked some trash can over. Nonetheless, it was enough to shake some sense into him. Arthur fled from the basement, deciding he had long outlived his welcome.

~o~

When Ivan sent word that Alfred was ready to come home, Arthur regarded the news with fresh relief and anxiety. He'd not been able to write a word since this entire mess started, but he didn't know how he would react to the boy's presence after his utterly _moronic_ excursion to Alfred's living quarters. Yet after all his sufferings, Arthur thought he might give Alfred as warm a welcome as he could manage, laying out a spread of meat and cheese for Alfred to nibble if he wanted and a good bottle of wine.

The doctor brought back a shivering, pale figure to the house after the sun had set. Alfred looked like a shade of his former self, weak and jelly-legged, wrapped up in a thin blanket. He smiled thinly at Arthur as he stepped into the brownstone, muttering a small thanks to Ivan for delivering him home. Arthur stood anxiously by the door. He'd worried that he'd immediately want to pounce Alfred as soon as he came in, considering his reaction in Alfred's basement. However, he was relieved to find his body unresponsive to the huddled figure.

"Welcome back," he said quietly, putting a hand to Alfred's shoulder to guide him into the house. He wasn't expecting the boy to flinch and pull away.

Ivan stepped in after the boy, giving Arthur a cool look. "Leave him," he said in a voice that brooked no argument. His eyes impassively took in the small appetizers that Arthur had bought for the occasion. "He vill not be interested in zat." True to his words, Alfred only spared a small glance at the food before shuffling down the stairs to the basement. Arthur couldn't help but feel slighted for being ignored for all that he had worried.

Ivan, however, seemed perfectly content in helping himself. He tossed his coat onto one of the chairs and sat himself down on the couch, taking a swig straight from the bottle of wine. Arthur glared at him, but closed the door behind him. "Oh yes, make yourself at home," he muttered sarcastically. He stood above the slav, folding his arms over his chest. "So, is there anything I should know about him? I assume that the bill's already been taken care of."

The doctor waved a hand. "He vill pay, in time," he replied enigmatically.

Arthur didn't like the sound of that one bit. After his initial meeting with Ivan, his impression of the man hadn't changed at all. He strode over to his desk and pulled out his checkbook. "How much?" he demanded sharply. Ivan looked up at him in amusement. "I mean it," Arthur hissed, taking out his pen. "You won't have any hold over him. How much to make sure that you don't come near him again?"

A deep, dark laugh boomed from the slav. "You are very silly child," Ivan chuckled, taking another large chunk of cheddar to eat. "You have no idea vhat is going on. You should just go on vit your business and leave boy alone. You vill be better off."

"Do not presume to tell me what to do," Arthur snapped, his hackles raised. How _dare_ this man tell him how he should treat his friend's son? And _child?_ What the fuck.

"Silly, silly child," Ivan reiterated, finishing off the bottle. Dear God, how could he down such expensive wine so quickly? He was making fast work on all the food as well. "If you vant to help, you vill not have anozer party in zis house. It is not good for Alfred to be close to many people. He is... _sensitive_." Ivan seemed to find his own words amusing as he let out another sinister chuckle. The sound of it sent shivers down Arthur's spine.

"I wasn't _planning _on it," the Brit growled. After this past debacle, he didn't plan on inviting a single soul over. At least not without strip searching their person. "Will you at least tell me what the hell Alfred is addicted to?"

"You ask him yourself," Ivan replied. "I am doctor. I cannot say."

Arthur doubted that this man was in any way acting as a doctor above board. "Cannot or will not?" he demanded.

"Both," Ivan replied. He finished off the last of the meat and cheese, patting off his fingers as he got up from the sofa. "Now, I go. Have good night, Arzur. Don't let bed bug bite," he added with more mirth than Arthur thought the poor joke merited.

Arthur only relaxed when the man had finally departed from his home. His green eyes turned over to the basement door, worrying his lower lip. He knocked on the door. "Alfred?" he called out through the wood, "Is there anything you need?"

There were some shuffling sounds and a muffled and tired, "No."

Sighing, Arthur decided that he may as well follow a little of Ivan's advice and let the boy rest. He pulled a bottle of wine from the cabinets and headed upstairs to see if he could finally get back to writing. Staring at the moon through his little attic window, he found inspiration immediately in a glass of wine and the surreal brutishness of their guest.

~o~

_Alfred,_

_I apologize for not having responded for so long. Things have gotten a bit hectic here, I will admit. I'm making short work of my new book thanks to a bit of a run in with some unsavoury character. I am calling my new character Doktor Vlad. A little cheesy, I will have to work on that._

_On another note, I'm sorry to hear that you will be again delayed abroad. I think that it may be good for you to come home and visit your son as soon as possible. I understand that he's already of age and his own person, but he needs a parent in his life right now. I am not a good fit for that role, I assure you._

_However, I am fit enough to try to befriend him. To that end, please let me know if there are any restaurants he enjoys. I think that he might appreciate a night out. I promise, I will handle him delicately. Honestly, I think that you just pretended to have all those ailments in proxy of your son. That sun allergy sounds brutal, poor boy. Not to mention he's a bit down from losing his job for being ill. He seems lonely._

_Please, come back soon._

_Yours,_

_Arthur_

~o~

_Arthur,_

_Thanks for all your concern. I really appreciate you looking out for Alfie like this. I know that you're not really the strings-attached type, no offense. Unfortunately, the company wants me in Estonia indefinitely, so I don't know when I'll be able to make it back. They've already given me relocation expenses. This is a really good opportunity in my career and I need the extra salary to support Alfie. Like you said, he's had it pretty hard since he can't find a good job with his allergy. I've been trying to encourage him to get an online degree, but do you know how hard it is to try to convince a kid to study from the next room, much less from across an ocean? lol_

_Anyway, you don't need to worry about him, Arthur. I think he might resent it if you try to fuss over him. If you really want to get in good with him, you can buy him a video game instead of dinner. He'd like that._

_Yours,_

_Alfred_

~o~

_Thank you for the advice about the video game. He loved it. Are you sure that he wouldn't like to go to a restaurant?_

_Art, srsly, yru so hung up about food?_

_The boy never gets out and about. It's not good for him to be so cooped up. I've barely laid eyes on him for weeks._

_ HE HAS A SUN ALLERGY. Leave him alone._

_How can I leave him alone? We're in the same bloody house. I'll do what I want to._

_ wtf, Art. Since when have you been so hung up on somebody before?_

_He's YOUR son. How am I not supposed to be concerned?_

_Awww, that's so cute, Artie. Are you going to tuck him into bed too? Sing him to sleep? Read him a bedtime story?_

_You unbelievably obnoxious git. I'm trying to be nice here!_

_Well DON'T. Seriously. Leave him alone._

_One would think that you were leaving him out to dry. Are you trying to insinuate that I'm a bad influence on him? I know I can be a bit wild, but he's a grown man as you so often remind me. He can make his own decisions._

_Jesus Christ, Art._

_You can help or not. But you're over in fucking Estonia. There's not much that you can do from there. OR you can come back here and take care of your son._

With that final text, Arthur tossed his phone down onto the table and glared at his laptop screen as he fumed at how _impossible_ his friend was being. They didn't argue that often, though they did have past disagreements on certain viewpoints. Alfred was quite a conservative fellow on a lot of matters, but not on the important ones. Such as when Arthur came out to him before any of his family members. Alfred had been nothing but supportive in Arthur's decision.

That thought made Arthur falter.

Wait. Surely, Alfred didn't... He wouldn't think that Arthur was a corrupting influence on his son, would he? Or that he was trying to get into the boy's pants? Dear God, the very thought made him sick to his stomach. Particularly because he _did_ have a stray thought or two about the young man. But surely, Alfred would know that even he wouldn't go _that _far. Maybe he didn't. After all, Arthur tended to brag a bit about his conquests. But a friend's son was completely off-limits. Well... except for his old publisher's son, but that boy had an exceptionally fine ass. Granted the fallout was terrible, but...

Oh...

Oh _lord_. Arthur sank his head into his hands with a groan. No wonder Alfred was being so overprotective. Arthur would have been far less detailed in his messages to Alfred if the man hadn't omitted the fact that he had a son of his own. Well, perhaps not. But even so-! He had been perfectly well-behaved around the boy-Alfred-Alfie. Granted, he barely saw him, but he'd been a fairly decent tenant ever since that fateful party.

Sighing, Arthur gave up on his writing for the day and headed back downstairs from the attic. Much to his surprise, he found Alfred (he couldn't really think of him as an Alfie) up and about on the ground floor. The boy paled when he saw him, not a good look as he was so pale already. What on earth had his father been saying about him?

"Do you need some help with that?" the author asked, nodding to the large box in Alfred's hands.

"Ah, no! That's okay," Alfred said, a bit flustered. "Thanks. It's just groceries." Arthur gave the box a skeptical look. Groceries in a box? Likely ramen or kraft products as he suspected. Ugh, how did he used to be able to live off of that? (Though takeaway wasn't all that much better.) Still, surely, the boy could use a break from it.

"Why don't you put that away and come have dinner with me?" Arthur suggested, following through on his threat to his old friend. "You seem as though you could use a break. Perhaps we could go to the cinema afterwards and watch a film."

If anything, Alfred only seemed to grow paler. Did he have some sort of aversion to being outside or to crowds? It would certainly explain a few things. "N-no! That's okay. Sorry, I don't- It's not good for me," the boy stammered, looking ill. Arthur wondered if there was something else going on with the boy that neither Alfreds were telling him.

Baby steps then.

"Well, at least have some supper with me tonight," the older man replied, putting his hands on his hips. "I can order some pizza and we can watch a movie together here at home. I won't take no for an answer," he added sternly. If nothing else, he had to at least get Alfred out of that awful, dank basement. "I _know_ you watch movies. I saw your collection downstairs. We can watch whatever you want."

However, from the horrified look on Alfred's face, only then did Arthur realize what he let slip. "_Did you go down into my basement?!_" Alfred demanded, no, _screeched_.

Panicking, Arthur held his hands out to try to placate the boy before he got too riled. "No, I just- I only ducked in for a moment! I didn't touch anything, I swear!" he promised. Well, except for the couch and the bed (ugh, the _bed_), but that _hardly _counted! Besides, what on earth was Alfred so worked up about? He didn't have anything incriminating down there! ...Or did he? "Alfred, don't tell me you have drugs down there," Arthur suddenly demanded, his mind whirling back to Alfred's stint in rehab. "You're not using again, are you?"

The utter astonishment and disbelief on the boy's face was so genuine that Arthur didn't have a problem believing Alfred when he spluttered, "Of course not! Are you crazy?! Don't tell me that's why you went downstairs!"

"It _wasn't,_" Arthur promised, much more gently this time. He still held up his hands as though he were trying to defend himself against a feral animal. "I swear it. It was a mistake going down there, but I honestly didn't do anything. I'm sorry. It was a very stupid thing to do. I did not mean to violate your privacy."

Alfred only gripped his box tighter against himself, his eyes almost inhuman they were so livid, body trembling with barely restrained power. Arthur sucked in a sharp breath, scarcely able to move under that gaze. Did Alfred have any idea how he _looked_ when he was like that? Yet the author couldn't bring himself to move any closer and act on the urges suddenly afflicting him. His feet were frozen in place, even though every nerve ending was on fire.

Then just like that, like the flip of a switch, Alfred changed back to that lost and uncertain boy, eyes wide as he looked Arthur over. He quickly disappeared down into the basement stairs, leaving Arthur to finally breathe again once the door slammed behind him.

Trembling, Arthur slapped a hand against a wall to keep himself from tottering over. He suddenly felt as had been socked right in the solar plexus, all the wind knocked right out of him. Worse than that, he was still horribly aroused.

His mind instantly went back to his text message conversation with his Alfred and he could not help but give a mirthless laugh. It seemed that his friend had every right to be worried about his son getting jumped. What a fine example of right decent human behaviour he was. Utterly despicable. He should move out at earliest convenience and leave Alfred well enough alone. God knows that he had done enough damage already with his stupidity.

He nodded to himself. Right. That was what he would do. He would pack up his things and move into a hotel for the time being. Better that he inform Alfred as soon as he could.

~o~

"What? NO!"

Arthur did not expect such a vehement objection to say the least. His bags were already packed and by the door, reservations made at the mid-range hotel he planned to stay at whilst he looked for other lodgings. All that remained was to inform Alfred of his departure.

...Which Alfred wasn't taking too well.

"You can't go," the boy insisted, grabbing Arthur by the arm. "You're on lease for another four months!"

"Yes, but I violated the terms of the agreement not to go down into your quarters," Arthur said, trying to shake off Alfred's firm grip. He had a surprising amount of strength for such a sickly looking boy. "You have every right to kick me out early. Alfred, I had thought that you would want me to go, considering how turbulent our cohabitation has been."

"But..." Alfred's face pinched, as though he looked as though he were about to break into tears or maybe it was sheer desperation. "I'm not kicking you out, Arthur. So you can't go. I know I've been a terrible landlord, but maybe we can get past it, right? I promise, I'll do better."

This was really not what Arthur expected at all. He had the distinct feeling of imbalance from being caught flat footed. "_You'll_ do better? What on earth did you do wrong?"

"Wh- but that whole rehab thing," Alfred stammered, his eyes filling with confusion. "I thought it was because you wouldn't want to be living with an addict." Well, normally that was true, Arthur would admit. However, looking over into Alfred's expression, Arthur knew that the boy was a very special case. Alfred looked so much like his father that it _hurt._ And he was such a sweet and shy boy.

"I can assure you, it's not because of that," Arthur replied, giving Alfred a faint smile. "Your father is concerned that I would be a destructive influence on you. I cannot bring myself to disagree, given what's happened. Moreover, I thought that you would want to get rid of a nosy, pushy old codger like myself."

Not that he was _that_ old, mind you.

Alfred's head ducked down, his hands squeezing all the tighter around Arthur's forearm. He mumbled something under his breath, which made Arthur lean in to try to hear. "Say that again, love," he prompted gently.

The boy's cheeks inflamed at the pet name. Not a good look either. He looked sickly and feverish. However, Alfred picked his chin up and said in a tiny, humiliated voice, "You can't go because I need the money."

Arthur's eyes widened and his own face flushed in sympathy. Shame curdled in his stomach, feeling horrible for having made Alfred admit to such a thing. Yet he didn't realize that his friend and his son were so down on their luck. It explained why his friend was willing to sacrifice staying in bloody Estonia just for a pay bump. And he should have remembered that Alfred hadn't been able to pick up another night-job after his month-long stint in rehab. Oh God, how did he manage to keep mucking up everything?

"I... yes, of course," Arthur whispered hoarsely, feeling even more vile than before. _Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!_ he berated himself, shutting the door to the house and closing any more discussion on the matter. "I'll just take my things back upstairs. Say nothing more of it. I hadn't been looking forward to trying to find new lodgings in any case."

Alfred's tired, blue eyes looked to the bags. "Do you need help?" he asked quietly. He sounded downtrodden and miserable. It hurt to see him in such a state.

"No, I'm quite alright," Arthur assured him, giving the boy a tentative smile. "Although..." he added slowly, giving Alfred a speculative glance, "if you'd like to help patch things up, perhaps you would agree to Thursday night movies with me? At home, of course. Just to be social. Maybe all we need is to get to know each other better."

Alfred worried his lower lip, giving the author a well-deserved look of suspicion. "Alright," he agreed at last, letting the air from Arthur's lungs rush out in relief. "But I get to pick the movies," he stipulated.

"Half," Arthur countered, his lips quirking into a smile.

"Two-thirds."

Arthur arched an eyebrow. "There's four Thursdays a month. How will that work?" He quite enjoyed this easy banter. Hopefully it was a sign that their future interactions would be far less volatile.

Alfred pouted. "Fine, three-quarters."

"Done." Arthur held out his hand. "Are we in accord?" Alfred rolled his eyes at Arthur's antiquated speech (or so he assumed), but stuck out his hand regardless. His palm was cool to the touch, sending a faint shiver down Arthur's skin.

"Deal."


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

~o~

Alfred was beginning to doubt that Arthur was a responsible person.

_Arthur, why are you showing up drunk in the house? You're setting a bad example!_

To which, the author promptly pounded on Alfred's door. "Alfred! You're coming out drinking with me!"

"I'm not twenty-one!" Alfred cried in horror.

"Don't you have a bloody fake ID?!"

...Well, _yeah_. But that was besides the point.

~o~

Alfred was beginning to doubt that Arthur had ever cooked anything in his life.

_Arthur, why are you harping on my son's eating habits? You always do delivery!_

The vampire jumped one day when Arthur slammed a giant pot of _something_ at his elbow at his computer desk. "The hell is that?" he asked, looking over at the ominous black sludge in the pot. It smelled like _death._ He should know.

"Curry," Arthur replied, his hands on his hips. "Now eat up. You need some meat on your bones."

Alfred stared at it. He wasn't quite sure how to get around the fact that his digestive system didn't work that way anymore. "Um... yeah, I'll get to it," he said, thinking he might feed it to the neighborhood cat.

They had to bury their neighborhood cat a week later.

~o~

Alfred was beginning to doubt that Arthur was any sort of gentleman.

_Arthur, could you possibly clean up after yourself? Alfie's not a maid._

The vampire always cringed when he saw the laundry strewn over the ground floor, along with cigarette butts and bottles of beer. Arthur seemed to have an aversion to any sort of activity that disrupted his writing muses (aka cleaning). The attic was always a fog of cigarette smoke and Arthur always sat in his seat cross legged with a glass of wine in hand. He blasted music at all hours. He was rude and crass, though somehow he always managed to make it sound charming. He didn't even drink tea properly, just dunking in his tea bags thrice in hot water and deeming that steeped properly.

"I am a perfect gentleman!" Arthur cried when Alfred dared to insinuate otherwise. "But there's no reason to behave like one with a brat like you."

~o~

Alfred highly doubted that Arthur at all acted his age.

_God, he's still such a kid,_ the vampire thought to himself, his lips twitching in amusement. Arthur lay sprawled on top of Alfred's lap on the couch, (not for warmth obviously) snoring softly as he passed out in the middle of the movie. He'd pulled two all-nighters to meet his editor's deadline and just hadn't been able to last.

It was unbearably cute. Alfred brushed his fingers along Arthur's bangs, bringing the fringe out of the young Brit's face. Arthur woke only briefly, a brilliant green eye peeking up at Alfred from underneath his lashes, before he settled down back to sleep against the vampire's stomach.

Maybe thirty really wasn't that old after all.

~o~

_Art, I hear you're getting on really well with Alfie now. It's nice to hear._

_Oh? Has he been talking about me?_

_Only nice things, I promise._

_Oh good. I was rather worried you would disapprove. You seem to have gotten it into your head that I would ruin the boy somehow._

_No way. Nothing like that. I'm just overprotective. He's only had me, after all._

_Yes, I understand. He's a bit frail. A week ago I accidentally opened a curtain while he was passing by. I'd never seen sun allergies before, but that was a severe reaction. I can see why he prefers the basement._

_Well, who doesn't like a good man-cave? lol_

_Don't laugh, Alfred. He got seriously hurt._

_Oh look at you, all fussy and disapproving. Who knew you'd turn into such a mother hen?_

_Shut up, Alfred_

_What? It's cute~ You big softie~_

_STFU ALFRED._

~o~

_**Polymorphous light eruption (PMLE).**__ PMLE is a reaction that does not appear to be linked to drugs or diseases. It happens in people who are at risk and who are exposed to intense sunlight that they're not used to. For example, people living in northern climates could experience this if taking a winter vacation in a tropical climate._

_Symptoms are a severe skin rash, usually appearing several hours after going out in the sun. _

_The rash may be itchy and include:_

_* Small bumps over the sun-exposed areas of the body  
><em>_* Dense clumps of bumps  
><em>_* Hives, usually on the arms, lower legs, and chest_

_An inherited form of PMLE occurs in Native Americans. It can last from spring until fall. Symptoms at first include redness, burning, and itching, which usually last 2 or 3 days but can persist for weeks. Other symptoms may begin within a few hours of sun exposure but go away in a few hours. They include:_

_* Fatigue  
><em>_* Chills  
><em>_* Headache  
>* <em>_Nausea_

_Treatment for PMLE depends on its severity. Other than staying out of the sun and protecting yourself when you are in the sun, you may not need treatment. The rash can clear by itself within 7 to 10 days._

Arthur read the Sun Poisoning WebMD article again, tapping the table in annoyance. It was the closest to the symptoms he saw in Alfred, but it still didn't sound quite right. In all cases, none of the symptoms were instantaneous, as it was with Alfred. Nor did any of them mention the same severity, as though Alfred's skin had literally been scorched by fire. Just remembering it made Arthur gag all over again.

That whole episode had been terrifying. Arthur had been in a state of panic, trying to figure out how to get his charge to the hospital without exposing him to more sunlight. In the end, he was forced to call Ivan to come and see to him, as revolting as the idea had been. Really, Alfred would have never been able to joke about it if he had seen how much pain his son was in.

Still, this was a mystery that begged solving. Now Arthur was sure that the illness that his friend had so feigned belonged instead to his son. He'd always thought the entire thing very strange when he was growing up, but never thought to question it. Now the evidence of it was in front of his very eyes. Perhaps it was inherited from the boy's mother? Was that why she was this silent void that either Alfred had yet to address? Every ounce of Arthur's researcher skills demanded that he go out and investigate. Perhaps there might be a way to treat it so that the boy might have a semblance of a normal life.

The author hummed, thinking he would have to create a case of sun poisoning for Doktor Vlad in his book. It would justify all the leg work in the research he needed to do. Also, he _really_ needed to come up with a better name than Doktor Vlad.

"Arthur!" Alfred called out from down the stairs. "The movie's on! Are you coming or not!"

"Coming!" Arthur called out after him. He closed his laptop, putting away his research for now.

~o~

Alfred panted sharply, fear washing over his already cold and clammy skin. There was a chittering sound, the clack of sharp claws against stone echoing in the cramped corridor. He huddled down, trying to hide himself in the dark, to get away from the unknown thing tracking him down. _Stop it. Stop _breathing,_ you don't _need _to breathe,_ he scolded himself sharply. He froze.

Two golden eyes peeked around the corner, cold moonlight casting a sheen upon a wiry fur muzzle filled with sharp teeth. The beast snarled, blood and saliva dripping from its maw and onto the cold stone floor. It was coming closer... and closer...

_Please don't see me. Please don't see me,_ Alfred begged, his eyes wide in terror. He wasn't breathing now, keeping himself perfectly still. The beast uttered an unholy growl, raising the follicles of hair on Alfred's skin. He trembled, trying to desperately to keep himself still, when-

The wolf launched itself and Alfred let out an ear-piercing scream. He launched himself at the closest warm body, wrapping his arms tightly around his companion.

"Blimey, could you shriek any louder!" Arthur cried out, trying to pry Alfred's vice-like arms off of him. The Brit paused the movie, hoping that it would somehow calm Alfred down from his near-delirious state of terror. "Why on earth do you insist on watching these films if they terrify you so?"

"L-l-l-learning e-experience," Alfred babbled, knowing that Arthur just wasn't going to get it. Of course, Arthur didn't know about all the things that went bump in the night. If he did, he'd be scared shitless too. Granted, Alfred didn't _know_ a whole lot of other supernatural beings, aside from himself and Ivan. Plus his own Sire, of course. He'd never even met any other vampires. Which was all the more reason to believe that all these things could be out there.

Naturally, the ignorant human only rolled his eyes. Once again, Arthur tried to pry Alfred off of him, his hands wrapping around Alfred's slender arms. "Cor, you're absolutely freezing," he fussed, sliding a hand over Alfred's cold skin. "Why are you always so cold?" Alfred only answered with a helpless shrug. It was better to feign ignorance with Arthur sometimes, he learned. The man was just too good at rooting out lies. "Here, have a drink will you. It will warm you up." A cup of hot chocolate was pushed into his trembling fingers.

Alfred scrunched his nose at it.

"Alfred, you are far too skinny. Drink it up," Arthur growled, giving the false-teen a sharp look. Of course he was skinny. He was subsisting only on blood and not even the real stuff fresh from the vein. It would be a completely different story if he'd been feasting on humans for a good decade (or going outside to hunt, or whatever).

"What are you, my mom?" the vampire muttered, taking a fake sip of chocolate. That insult seemed to strike a chord as Arthur jerked and only grew more indignant. Alfred smirked at him. "What? The infamous playboy can't stand the idea of getting soft?"

"I am _not_ getting soft!" Arthur hissed, shoving Alfred away from him. Only the vampire's quick reflexes kept himself from getting soaked in hot chocolate. He leveled a glare onto Alfred, seething from his stung pride. "Well, you enjoy the movie on your own and fend for yourself. I'm _going out_." Grabbing his coat, Arthur left the house in a huff, likely off to find some bar or dance club or some poetry slam thingy that literary-type people liked.

Alfred sighed. Welp, he ought to be prepared for a hungover Arthur tomorrow.

~o~

Alfred stared at his computer screen, his eyes burning from lack of sleep and staring for too long at his computer. Maybe watching the rest of that werewolf movie by himself had been a serious mistake. Still, yay for getting two months of programming done in one night~! Yay~

Groaning, the vampire let his head thump on top of his computer desk. He'd stayed up _way_ past his bedtime, feeling the heat of morning making his sluggish and lethargic. Yeah, it was probably safe to head to bed. Werewolves didn't wander around in the middle of the day. No moon.

Dragging himself the small distance from his desk to his bed, the vampire flopped on top of his bed without bothering to change into his pyjamas. Wow, his pillow felt so, soooo nice right now. So nice. His eyes fluttered closed, a heavy blackness falling over him like a blanket.

The vampire awoke with a gasp sometime later, only aware that something heavy was slung over his waist. It reminded him too eerily of his serfdom days and he was utterly disoriented when he awoke, expecting hay thatch and muddy floor. What he got instead was a tolerable IKEA mattress and a warm human body laid up against his.

Alfred's eyes went wide when he saw his bed companion. Arthur cuddled up against him, his warm, sour breath puffing against Alfred's cool neck. It made a sharp shiver run down Alfred's skin, his senses sharpening with prey in such close proximity. The Want in him was screaming. Completely unabashed, Alfred raised his leg up to Arthur's chest, then kicked him out of bed and onto the floor.

~o~

"Rosbif, 'ow 'as your new roomie been?" Francis asked from across the cafe table, sipping his cafe (coffee, just call it coffee). Arthur twitched behind his sunglasses, taking a sip of his own beer. He knew what Francis was getting at and he refused to lower himself to that level. His relationship with Alfred was far more pure than the Frenchman implied. He only tolerated Francis because he couldn't go out in the middle of the day with Alfred.

"Fine," Arthur replied in clipped tones, checking his phone to see if he received any new messages from Estonia. Nothing. "And don't call me rosbif, you cheese-eating surrender monkey."

Francis '_ohohoh'_d' in amusement, his wicked eyes sparkling in mirth. "Ah, you seem a bit tense, rosbif. Iz it because I waz able to get your pretty boy to bed and you 'ave not?"

The pint slammed down on the table with a bit too much force. "And how would you know that you even got anywhere with him?" Arthur demanded, feeling something sharp prickling inside his chest. "You ended up in hospital." It was idiotic. He shouldn't feel jealous. He was far closer to his Alfred than Francis could ever hope to be. Strange that he thought of both Alfreds as _his_ now.

There was also the blood-boiling reminder that Francis was likely the one who had ruined Alfred in the first place. He couldn't accuse the man though. Not without the proof. Besides he was 'outside' Kirkland now. 'Outside' Kirkland put up with this sort of thing from his acquaintances and had on occasion dabbled in it himself.

Francis gave him a slick smile that deserved punching off the Frenchman's ugly gob. "You do not forget a night of passion like zat," he crooned in a way that made Arthur's skin crawl. Then he leaned back and let his eye wander to one of the lovely waitresses attending to the tables. Arthur only grew more irritated that Francis was not choosing to disclose any detail. That bitch! Every part of the author prickled, his imagination churning wildly. No doubt that was the intended effect.

Gritting his teeth, Arthur was determined not to ask anymore of the subject. It _didn't_ _matter_. He wasn't going to ever try to act on his urges around Alfred, so it was _not an issue._ "Did you look into that other matter for me?" he asked, determined to change topics.

"But of course," Francis replied as he pulled out a large manila envelope and passed along to the author. "Names of ze most esteemed curators of bizarre diseazes in zeir field. Zough I wonder why you should be interested in such a zing."

"Research for my book," Arthur replied, pulling out the list of names. Almost immediately, he let out a hysterical giggle. "Doctor Vladimir Negrescu? What?!" he laughed aloud, mostly to himself.

"Quoi?" Francis demanded, not understanding the joke. However, Arthur merely waved a hand in dismissal, leaving the Frenchman unsated. "Arzur, you must tell me what iz so funny!" he tried again, but all he got out of the Englishman for the next half hour was a series of incomprehensible chortles.

~o~

Arthur arrived back at his front steps soon before the sun set. Dusk had cast the brownstone in warm vibrant orange, making it glow like amber. The author stopped at the foot of the stair, looking up at this place that he now called home. It was surely more a home than any other that he had ever inhabited. Likely because of the one he shared it with. He waited there, silently contemplating this particular change over a cigarette as he waited for the sun to set. He didn't want to risk Alfred somehow getting injured again. It occurred to him that he would never show such consideration to another human being, yet somehow the boy had gotten completely under his skin. Not only would he wait outside his own abode for a half hour, but it did not even seem like the slightest inconvenience. Strange, the effect of companionship.

When it was finally safe, Arthur stamped the butt of his fag under his shoe and headed back into the house to greet his roommate. "Alfred?" he called out, casting his gaze around the roomy home. Basement perhaps. "Alfred, are you down here?" he asked, feeling perfectly comfortable in heading down into Alfred's quarters. They had become far more lax in entering and sharing their separate spaces as weeks passed.

Arthur found the younger man dozing away in bed, the sheets kicked out around his feet. His shirt had ridden up over his stomach, showing off the pale luminescent skin over his abs. An arm was thrown up over his head, his expression completely peaceful over his boyish face. The sight of him made the author's breath catch in his throat. He swallowed thickly, feeling a strange, soft feeling kindling in his chest. It was unlike any other feeling he had ever experienced, either with Alfred or any other bed fellow he ever had. Yet all he could think was that this boy never looked so sweet.

His stomach swarming with butterflies, he turned back up the stairs to attend to that list he had procured.

~o~

Arthur checked his watch as he bound up the university building steps. 5:30 PM. A half hour early, but he was eager to make his appointment. After all, he had already gone through everyone else on his list. Hopefully, Dr. Negrescu would not mind if he impeded a bit into his office hours. _Dr. Negrescu, Dr. Negrescu,_ he reminded himself as he perused the office directory. He had to train himself not to think of the professor as Doktor Vlad, lest he dissolve into some rather undignified giggles during their interview. A snort. _Oh damn it, stop it!_

The author took the extra time to compose himself. He was here for Alfred's sake. He had to keep it together.

"Come in," came the heavily accented voice once Arthur rapped on the door. Stepping in, Arthur glanced over the sumptuous wood-paneled office, filled to the brim with books and vintage knick-knacks such as a weathered skeleton and an antique stethoscope. Save for the random medical paraphernalia, it was a near perfect replica of the office of one of Arthur's old English professors in London. A little bit stodgy for his tastes, to be honest.

The professor behind the desk, however, did not meet his expectations at all. Instead of the brooding, old, tall, dark fellow he was expecting from the name, Dr. Negrescu was a young man with shaggy strawberry blond hair and a pearl earring on his left ear. He wore an easy, disarming smile as he held out his leather gloved hand. "Uelcome, Mr. Kirkland. Fank you for meeting after my classes."

"Quite alright," Arthur assured him, shaking his hand. "Thank you for agreeing to speak with me. I appreciate the help." Then he halted when he met the professor's eyes. They were _red._

Dr. Negrescu smirked, catching Arthur's gaze. "Genetic mutation," he explained, gesturing for Arthur to be seated. "It is uihy I decided to go into ze field I did. I assume zat is uihy you asked to see me."

"Ah, yes, that's right," Arthur replied, taking out his notepad to jot notes during the interview. "Dr. Negrescu, you are a highly acclaimed expert in genetic diseases, correct?"

"Please, call me Vlad," the professor replied with an amiable smile, easing himself back into his seat.

Arthur paused. _Don't snort,_ he berated himself, furiously taking notes to stall for time. When he was ready, he returned the smile. "Vlad, then. You may call me Arthur. In any case, I thought that you might be able to help with some research on a particular disease that I would like to include in my novel. I am having a bit of trouble pinning it down to something that would occur in reality."

"Uell, zat should be interesting," Vlad smiled. "Go ahead. Uat are ze symptoms?"

Arthur nodded, taking out a separate piece of paper that listed off Alfred's symptoms. "Extreme photosensitivity. The skin breaks out into red lesions immediately in sunlight. Nausea and fatigue during the daytime. Low appetite-"

"Except for blaad, yes?" Vlad suddenly interjected, all the lighthearted amicability suddenly shut out of his flat voice. The author looked up in surprise, a little alarmed to find the professor leveling him a red-eyed glower.

"I... what?" he asked stupidly, before the Romanian cut in again.

"I suppose you fink zis is very funny," Vlad said, getting outright irritated as he stood up from his seat. "To come to ze Romanian medical professor to ask all about a vampyre disease. I am sorry, Mr. Kirkland, but you are not ze first person to come and pull such a prank. I am disappointed zat your maturity level is not above ze level of my students."

"W-wait a tic!" Arthur cried out, getting the feeling he was about to be booted out. He _couldn't _leave now. Dr. Negrescu was one of his best chances of helping Alfred! He got up from his seat, slamming both hands on the man's desk. "I am not pulling a prank!" he snapped back, "This is a life and death situation!"

The professor seemed taken aback by the sudden ferocity in Arthur's voice, giving him a chance to clarify matters. "I apologize for coming here under false pretenses, professor," Arthur said with a breath to steady himself. "However, this is a real affliction that is affecting a dear friend of mine. And I do _not_ write about vampires," he added shortly, offended that the professor would imply such a thing.

Vlad studied the author suspiciously. After a long moment, he sat himself back down behind his desk. "Very uell..." he said slowly, "I uill trust you are serious about zis." Tenting his fingers, he nodded for Arthur to repeat the symptoms. Then he asked, "So, uere do you fink your... _friend _acquired ze disease?"

"I suspect from his mother," Arthur replied. "However, I am not sure. I am researching this without his knowledge."

That seemed to stir some interest in the professor as he cocked an eyebrow. "Indeed," he said, "fen I uill assume you do not know everyfing..." He coughed lightly into his fist and turned behind him to pull out a large, dusty tome. He laid it flat on the desk, thumbing through it to go to the page he was looking for. "Here," he said, pointing it to a particular chapter. "From uat you describe, I uould say zat he has some form of Porphyria. Cutaneous Porphyria to be exact. Fere are subsets even beyond zat."

Arthur's eyes widened, taking the book from the professor almost reverently. His eyes quickly took in the words, matching up the symptoms. Finally, a _name._ God, simply _knowing_ was a relief. "Is it treatable?" he asked quickly, looking up to the professor.

Vlad nodded, his expression softening upon sight of Arthur's genuine relief. "Yes, but he uill need to come to my research laboratory, so I can determined uether he truly has Porphyria or not. Hospitals do not have porphyria testing and I am not in ze business of handing out Panhematin to everyone who asks."

"Y-yes, of course," Arthur replied, his lips breaking into a giddy smile. "I'm sure that I can convince him to come. And money is no question. May I borrow this book?" he asked, gesturing to the enormous tome. Pure giddy relief was bubbling up in Arthur like a wellspring, hardly able to be contained, making his fingers tremble as he held onto the book.

Vlad gave the author a tiny smile and nodded, "Of course."

"Great- that's great," the author beamed, cradling the book against his chest as if it were a treasure. "Vlad, Dr. Negrescu, thank you so much. This is wonderful news. Thank you, truly."

"It is not a problem," the professor said with a dismissive wave. He got up and reached out to shake Arthur's hand. Once again, he disarmed Arthur with a charming smile, his red eyes glinting in the low light. "I look foruard to meeting your friend..."


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

~o~

"Kiku, 'hind you!"

The samurai was suddenly ambushed, a party of three ganking him from the bushes. Alfred heard a groan over his headphones as Kiku died.

*_Aporogies_* his friend said softly, clearly frustrated. *_I respawn in ninety secondsu*_

"S'all good, I go' i'," Alfred mumbled around the mouth of his blood packet, sucking on it as though it were a Capri Sun. He tossed the empty bag into the nondescript biowaste bin next to his desk and got to business. His paladin expertly wasted the intruders in their territory in short order. "Got 'em. How much time do you have left?"

*_Fifty. Wait for me for za raidu.*_

"Yeah, yeah," the vampire replied lightly, going off to get himself some monster buffs. He was in his element in this kind of environment and he was glad that he and Kiku still had this to share.

*_How is your nyu roommato?*_ Kiku asked over the headphones. The question caught the vampire off guard for a moment before he continued on fighting. He felt a bit awkward talking about this with Kiku, considering he had pretty much kicked his friend out. But Kiku had been beginning to give him odd looks for going through five birthdays without looking any older. Of course, he'd made the mistake of giving Kiku a birthdate in the first place. It only helped him keep track.

"Fine," he answered after a long moment. "No taste in video games or movies. Kind of annoying sometimes, but he's a good guy. I like him." He didn't dare go into any detail about exactly how fond he was of Arthur. That was something to be jealously guarded. "Okay, ready? Let's go," he said when he saw Kiku respawn.

Upstairs, he heard the front door open and shut, soon followed by heavy footsteps. His eyes flicked down to his bin, making sure the top was shut and the empty packet out of sight. He had to be careful nowadays. Even Kiku didn't have the privilege of walking about anywhere he liked in the house like Arthur did. "I'm home!" he heard Arthur call from upstairs, before the author predictably went off to the kitchen to grab a beer.

"Ergh, I think I have to get off after we finish this battle," Alfred warned his friend, his eyes riveted to the frenetic battlefield in front of him, slashing down multiple opponents to get to the enemy tower. "He's just going to bug me about getting a job instead of playing video games." He'd never thought that his friend would grow up to be such a nag. Seriously, it was all: 'Go outside,' 'Eat something,' 'Stop playing so many video games,' 'Come to the bar with me,' 'Stop being such a stiff.' Arthur had no idea how ironic that last one was.

*_Did you not teru him you aruready have a jobu?*_ Kiku asked.

Alfred's stomach curdled with guilt and he replied sheepishly, "Ah... well, he doesn't know about the programming one and he's been so nice to me because he thinks I'm unemployed. I didn't have the heart to correct him."

*_Arufredo-san..._* his friend sighed, his voice rife with disapproval.

"Well, he'd probably insist I get an outside job anyway!" Alfred said defensively. "He nags me all the time about leaving the house." The silence on the other side was palpable.

"Alfred, are you down here?" Arthur called out, opening up the basement door and flicking on the stairwell lights. The vampire winced at the sudden explosion of fluorescent around him. Stepping lightly down, the author huffed in exasperation when he saw Alfred playing on his computer, but didn't disturb him. Instead he ruffled Alfred's hair and then settled himself onto the couch to nurse his beer bottle. He immediately went to Alfred's playstation to check out something on Hulu (some British Baking Competition) and started texting "Estonia."

This was a sign that Arthur wanted to talk to him. He'd be hanging around upstairs otherwise.

"Alright, I gotta go. TTYL," Alfred told Kiku before he shut down his game. Then he spun his chair around, glancing over at Arthur. "So, can I help you?" he asked, stretching his arms up over his head. He immediately had the Brit's attention, beer and phone forgotten as Arthur twisted to face Alfred over the back of the sofa. His expression was one of pure delight, which made Alfred's belly flutter with warmth. He was so cute sometimes...

"I had an interview today," Arthur said, looking perfectly pleased with himself.

"Oh?" Alfred replied, his lips quirking into a smile.

"Yes, with a professor from Columbia. He studies obscure genetic diseases." Alfred was failing to see why this would have Arthur in such a cheery mood and he grew more uncertain. Then his very insides froze when Arthur elaborated, "I spoke with him about your case. He thinks he knows what's wrong with you and he wants you to come in to his lab."

..._What?_

Arthur smiled broadly, not noticing how stock still his landlord had gone. "He lent me his book about the subject. He believes you have a form of porphyria. I don't recall off the top of my head exactly what kind, but from what I gleaned from the text it seems to suit your case quite well. Much more than a simple sun allergy. You should definitely give it a read-" he froze, when his eyes finally looked at Alfred's face.

The vampire had no idea what sort of expression he had on, but he was barely keeping in the cold fury that was making his entire body tremble and his sharpened teeth grind in his jaw. "You..." he hissed, throwing his chair back to stalk up to the other man. "I cannot _believe_ you did this!" he cried, throwing himself down on Arthur and pinning him down to the sofa. "How couldyou go behind my back like this?!"

Arthur worked his jaw numbly, shocked into submission. ...No, that wasn't shock. He was outright hypnotized, his eyes wide and unseeing, inadvertently thrown under Alfred's entrancement. Shit, he was so pissed he didn't even realize what he'd done. Disgusted, Alfred threw himself off of the other man, grateful at least that Arthur wasn't going to remember a bit of this. Might as well make the most of it...

"Who did you tell and how much does he know?" Alfred demanded sharply, his rage so potent he didn't feel the slightest bit of guilt (yet) for turning Arthur into a puppet.

"Dr. Vladimir Negrescu," the human replied robotically, going on to explain how he found the man and their succeeding interview. "I told him that my friend was suffering from photosensitivity, low blood pressure, skin lesions and low appetite. Perhaps a genetic condition from your mother."

"...Just your friend? No names?" Alfred pressed, his temper abating somewhat when Arthur nodded. Well, that wasn't as much damage as it could have been. He sucked in a long breath, a leftover human habit to calm himself. His head began to spin, unused to putting a human under his control for so long. It was especially hard without fresh blood. With a wave, he released Arthur and sank down heavily onto the other end of the sofa.

His mind stolen back, Arthur likewise pressed a hand to his brow as a similar headache and bout of lightheadedness debilitated him. "The fuck just happened?" he muttered, his face turning a faint green.

"Dunno, guess we got hit with the same thing," Alfred replied, feeling as green as Arthur looked. To this, Arthur grew alarmed. Without warning, he grabbed Alfred by the arm and hauled the pair of them up the basement stairs.

"A-Arthur?" Alfred asked, stunned as they were both dragged out into the cool night. Arthur didn't answer immediately, dialing up some number. "Arthur, what are you doing?"

"Calling the gas company. There may have been a leak," the author replied, settling them on the sidewalk. His tired, green eyes went to Alfred and his hand reached out, gently stroking Alfred's cheek. "Can't let anything happen to you, now can we?" he said softly, giving his so-called charge a warm smile.

...Yep, there was the guilt. Hello, guilt.

~o~

"Alfred, I don't understand why you won't even talk to the man. We only want to help you!"

Arthur was getting increasingly frustrated with his young landlord. Though he'd introduced the idea of porphyria to Alfred two weeks prior, the boy was having none of it. He wouldn't even touch the book that the professor had lent to read about his condition. Honestly, he had no idea why Alfred would be so adverse to a treatment that could possibly make his life better. He even tried appealing to 'Estonia' but only ended up hitting a brick wall.

_Sorry, Art. He's a grown man. I can't force him anywhere._

It was absurd! It was as if his friend didn't even care what happened to his own son! Perhaps he didn't. It explained why _Arthur _of all people was the one who was able to deduce Alfred's malady after only a month of investigation. Surely, if he cared, his friend would have been able to do the same _years _ago.

All in all, Arthur was feeling highly unappreciated.

Particularly when Alfred was giving him that highly specific bland expression, as if he was incredulous and annoyed that Arthur was still bugging him about this. "Will you just let it go?" the boy muttered darkly, dangerously close to tuning Arthur out entirely, his hands on top of the headphones resting around his neck. "I told you, I'm not going to meet your stupid doctor."

_Stupid, stubborn-!_

The headphones were now all the way over Alfred's ears and he turned himself to his video game. Even though he was technically ignoring the author, his slender shoulders were radiating with tension. It was enough to make Arthur want to scream. However, the most that he could do was slam the (likely rare and expensive) book down at Alfred's elbow and storm upstairs and out of Alfred's self-imposed prison.

The author had every intention of slamming out some very colourful curses in an email to Estonia. Creative soul that he was, he was quite good at them. He _despised _being put in this position. He never intended to care this much about another person's welfare. It simply wasn't in his nature. He was rich and unattached and he liked it that way. Yet all it took was to lay eyes on one sickly, but sweet young man and he was _ruined_. Because he knew, against all logic, that if he didn't care about Alfred then no one else in the world would.

Arthur's fingers slowed, unable to keep flying across the keyboard to pound out the email. His shoulders trembled, his heart physically aching inside his chest. He only wanted, so _desperately_, for Alfred to be happy. He deserved so much better than to be locked up inside a basement for the rest of his life. He just didn't know _why _Alfred didn't see that himself.

He felt something wet on his cheek and it took him a moment to realize that he was in tears. Tears. Bloody tears over some ungrateful little shit! With a wet snarl, he shoved aside a mug of pens he kept on his desk, letting it shatter to the wood floor in a satisfying crash of ceramic and plastic. The red pen broke, sending red droplets splattering across the wood.

His treacherous mind pulled the memory of Alfred's burning, remembering the screams that still howled in his nightmares, the anguished cries, the sound and smell of sizzling flesh. Those wide terrified blue eyes pooling with agony. The blood on his hands.

Arthur closed his eyes, willing the images to fade from his mind. He knew it was worse in his mind than it actually had been. Guilt, memory and imagination all worked against him. However, it was more than they should ever have to go through. He was just a writer and Alfred was just a boy.

Sweeping a hand over his brow and his head, he let out a shuddering breath. This was too much. He couldn't handle this all at once. He needed to relieve the pressure. His hand went to his phone and he quickly texted an old acquaintance though it was near the dead of night.

_Are you up? Can I come over?_

_Si. Bring vino._

~o~

When Antonio Carriedo was involved, everything had to be incredibly dramatic. Arthur found it a bit tiresome in long stretches, but his lips pulled into a smile when the door to the little apartment in Soho opened and the Spaniard inside gasped loudly as though his visitor was entirely unexpected. "Ah, mi corazón!" he cried out kissing each of the Brit's cheeks thrice. "Entre, entre, por favor. Arturo, it is so naice to see you again. ¿Did you bring vino?"

"Right here," Arthur replied, holding up the bottles he brought from the house.

"Ah, you are too kaind," the Spaniard said, showing the author into his little apartment. It was even smaller than Alfred's basement, but it was nearly blinding with all the bright reds and golds that decorated the home. "Seet, seet, I will get you something to drink." He sauntered off into his kitchen, showing off the infamous Carriedo booty in his tight black pants.

Arthur openly leered at it. Yes, it was most definitely worth pissing off his old publisher for that piece of arse. He followed Antonio into the kitchen, waiting until the other man's back was turned to attend to the wine. His body suddenly pressed the Spaniard up against the fridge, eliciting a sharp gasp from his host.

"¡Ah, Dios mío! You are feeling eager tonight," Antonio purred, letting himself be ravished. He turned around as Arthur slipped his hands underneath the skintight pants to grope him. His mouth was devoured into a greedy, suckling kiss. "Mmmm~ You _h_have been _h_here for soo long. ¿Why did you not come to visit before?"

"Busy," Arthur grunted, maneuvering them over to the bedroom to begin their more rigorous activity. Antonio pouted at him, but gasped when Arthur pressed himself enticingly against his groin. Below him, Antonio writhed, wantonly throwing himself into the act of pleasure with dulcet moans.

Yet the Brit could not help but tune him out. In the throes of their lovemaking, his mind going instead to a body more slender, only just come into manhood. Instead of honeyed tan, he imagined white like lilies under moonlight. Bright blue eyes, looking up underneath a blond fringe. Small smiles that turned into playful smirks or adorable pouts. Cool fingers tracing over his brow.

"_Arthur..."_

With a gasp, his body tensed as he climaxed, before it collapsed down next to his partner. The body beside him was entirely too warm. His skin had broken out into a sweat and it was like a furnace. Beside him, Antonio hummed, clearly having enjoyed himself as he lay one arm behind his head. "Ah, you are very rough, Arturo," he said and stretched himself out. "And your maind was a million miles away."

"Sorry," Arthur muttered into his pillow.

"Is okay," Antonio replied lightly, before he turned a teasing smile on Arthur. "¿Now, w_h_ho is Alfredo?" The author's already flushed cheeks grew even hotter and he opened his mouth. "Ah, ah, ah," the Spaniard said, pressing a finger to Arthur's lips. "Do not try to deny it, Arturo. ¿You were thinking about _h_heem, weren't you?"

"I don't want to talk about him," Arthur replied, turning over to press a kiss to Antonio's mouth to silence him. The Spaniard moaned softly, easily going with the flow as he ran his hands over Arthur's naked back.

~o~

'_Nothing good ever happens after 2 AM'_ was what Antonio's mama always told him.

Antonio didn't know what she was talking about because drunk Arturo was _hilarious_ after 3 AM.

After relieving a bit more stress in bed, they decided to finally get into the wine that had been airing for hours. The author had the lion's share of both bottles, then the whole of the third bottle that Antonio opened up for him. Hiccuping, the Brit sat on the floor, back against the foot of Antonio's couch as he cradled the bottle of Rioja like a sailor would a bottle of rum, wailing about Estonia or something. It didn't exactly make sense.

"I just don' un-unnerstand!" Arturo cried out, more loudly than he realized. "Is like- Is like he doesn' care! I though' I knew him better than tha'. After all tha' we shared together! Stabbing me in the back he does. Stupid Estonia! I hope it falls into the ocean and dies!"

Antonio gave him a benign smile, laying comfortably on top of the plush sofa, still sipping from the glass from the second bottle as he ran his fingers through the blond's choppy hair. "So, Arturo, tell me more about dis Alfredo," he prompted, still working on prying more information about the boy that so preoccupied his bedmate's mind. "¿Is _h_he pretty? ¿What about _h_heem turns your _h_head so?"

Arturo flashed him a sharp glare, bristling with a sudden bout of anger. "He's not pretty! An' you can't 'ave 'im, he's mine!"

Antonio only laughed, putting up his hands in surrender. Really, the Brit was so _funny_ when he was like this. It got a bit tiresome in the long run, which is why he was quite alright with the author breaking it off with him after the Armada Co. incident, but for now he quite enjoyed Arturo's antics. "Okay, okay," he said to placate his guest. "So, _h_he's not pretty and _h_he's yours. Got it. ¿So why you think about _h_heem, hmm?" he asked, his own words a little slurred. At least he knew that he was a bit drunk, but he was maintaining a pleasant tipsy level.

Arturo grew strangely quiet as he considered this, leaning his temple against the side of the couch. After a long moment, he answered, "He's shy n' sweet. But he's... tragic. But not in th'dramatic way. He's... like a ghost. Only he haunts th'basement. It's so sad..." The Brit's eyes were growing misty and Antonio could not help but grow solemn in empathy.

"¿You care about _h_heem very much?" he asked gently, carding his fingers through the hair on the nape of the author's neck. The author nodded, hiccuping. "Then easy. You tell _h_heem. Easy-peasy."

"Can' do tha'," Arturo growled at him in annoyance.

"¿Por qué?" Antonio quipped.

The simple question seemed to stump the author as his face morphed from irritated to perplexed. "Dunno," he finally replied. "Seemed like a bad idea a' th'time."

"¿_h_How can it be a bad idea?" Antonio demanded with a disbelieving gasp. "Oh Arturo, is silly. ¡Telling people you care make dem _h_happy!" He straightened up on the couch and then leaned over to look for the author's coat, rummaging for the man's phone. "You call _h_heem right now and tell _h_heem. Go on."

"I dunno..." Arturo said, looking skeptically at the phone as it was put into his hands.

"¡You can do it~!" Antonio cheered, pumping both fists into the air as if he were carrying pom-poms.

The author flushed, but gave a sharp nod. "Putting it on speaker phone. So shut up," he warned the Spaniard as the number began to ring. Antonio wriggled giddily in his seat, eager to finally hear from the one who had completely turned Arturo's head.

The phone picked up and there was an uncertain, *_...Hello?_*

"¡Hola, Alfredo~!" Antonio called out cheerfully, waving at the phone.

*_Who the hell is this?_* the young voice immediately demanded, right as Arturo hissed at the Spaniard to shut his gob. *_Goddammit, Arthur, are you there? I heard you! Are you drunk dialing me?_*

Antonio didn't think that this Alfredo sounded very sweet to _him,_ but he carried on his mission regardless. "Alfredo. Alfredo, do be naice. Arturo _h_has something to tell you." Then he pushed Arturo forward, as if he were nudging the man to go pick up someone at the bar.

The static silence on the other side was loaded with heavy skepticism.

However, Arturo swallowed and then braved forward. "Alfred, I... I really like you. A lot," he finally spoke, pushing out the words as though he were shoving open a heavy door. "I liked you th'moment I saw you. Even if you look like a corpse n' you kinda feel like one too."

The other side sputtered. *_You're drunk, Arthur!_* the young man cried out in embarrassment. *_And_ _take this off speaker phone! You don't know what you're saying!_*

"I do so!" Arturo replied hotly, slamming the butt of the bottle of wine on the ground in irritation. "Forget that shit. I love you! Alfred Jones, I love you from the bottom of my soul. My heart, not the shoes. n' I've never fel' this way about anyone before. So you don' have to like it, but you have to accept it!" Antonio squealed in excitement, wrapping his arms about the Brit's shoulders.

The voice on the other side trembled heavily with emotion, though Antonio couldn't decipher it. *_Jesus Christ, Art. Just stop-_* However, he was cut off when Arturo broke in:

"_I cannot look greenly nor gasp out my eloquence, nor I have no cunning in protestation; __only downright oaths, which I never use till urged, nor never break for urging._

_If thou canst love a fellow of this temper, whose face is not worth sun-burning, __that never looks in his glass for love of any thing he sees there, let thine eye be thy cook. _

_I speak to thee plain soldier: If thou canst love me for this, take me: if not, to say to thee __that I shall die, is true; but for thy love, by the Lord, no; yet I love thee too."_

Antonio held his breath, waiting for a reply from the other side. The voice over the phone wasn't saying anything, only breathing heavily as though to keep control of himself. When Alfredo finally responded, his voice was trembling violently. *_Arthur... please tell me that was all a joke._*

"What did I jus' say?" Arturo grumbled in reply, though his body was leaning forward and hanging onto every word. "Only oaths, never broken."

Alfredo let out a shaky laugh. *_I know that, stupid. I understand Shakespeare just fine._* A pause. *_Are you coming back home tonight?_*

"Prolly not. I'm drunk," the author admitted, looking around for his bottle and forgetting that he'd already emptied it.

*_Okay... good. I don't want to see you when you're drunk.*_ He sighed heavily into the phone._ *When you come home and you're stone cold sober and you say that to me, then I'll believe you. Deal?_*

Arturo bristled and replied hotly, "I'm telling the truth, you-!"

*_Night, Arthur,_* Alfredo interrupted and hung up. The author glared at his phone, but was sufficiently distracted when he was suddenly manhandled from behind.

"¡Ah! ¡Our Arturo is in love!" the Spaniard cheered, drawing up Arturo into a hug and frenzied dance, planting several kisses on his cheeks. The author was still reeling from being spun, falling haphazardly onto the sofa when Antonio abruptly released him. "¡We should celebrate!" he gasped, even as Arturo moaned that he was going to be sick. The Spaniard found a another bottle of wine, uncorking it and bringing it out to his almost-newly-hitched companion. He brought out two fresh glasses, hauling Arturo up to his feet. "Now, a toast. ¿What shall we toast to?" Antonio asked.

"Not vomiting?" Arturo replied, looking very green as the Spaniard shoved a glass into his hand.

"¡Ah! I know," Antonio beamed, holding his glass up. "Un brindis por el amor verdadero."

"Cheers," the Brit managed weakly, holding his glass up.

"¡And for Estonia dropping into de sea!" Antonio chirped, clinking their glasses together.

The glass fell from Arturo's fingers, as he turned deathly white, eyes wide in horrified realization.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

~o~

Alfred couldn't sleep a wink. He stared at his ceiling well into the morning, the only thing indicating the time the heat simmering from the blocked windows. By all rights, he should be sluggish and tired, but it felt as though every synapse was whirring overtime since that call. He didn't know what to think about all this. He didn't know why Arthur would suddenly, albeit drunkenly, make such a proclamation. Last he spoke with Arthur, they were arguing about that stupid book again. He didn't understand what would inspire Arthur to be _so- _He didn't even know what.

The front door opened at around noon. Alfred tensed, waiting for Arthur to come down to the basement. He never did, instead traversing the floor to head upstairs.

Alfred told himself not to think too much on it. His sleepless mind did not want to listen.

~o~

**Arthur Kirkland**

...

...

...

...

Alfred stared at his A-1 (aka Alfred senior) phone. The damned dots had been popping in and out of existence for a good half hour now. The author had yet to come down to the basement, despite the fact that it was 18 hours 48 minutes (12, no 13 seconds) since Arthur had drunk dialed him. Not that he was counting or anything.

It took a great deal for Alfred to lose his patience. After all, he was quite long lived. Things settled in an eventuality. He had long since learned that a single person was but a drop of water in the sea of the universe. Or whatever zen-y thing Kiku said. So usually, he never got too worked up about stuff. However, Arthur had a weird superpower of getting under his skin. Unable to take it anymore, the vampire decided to make a preemptive strike.

_Art, you've been groundhogging me for a whole half hour. What's going on?_

The reply came quickly, although it was not the outcome he hoped for.

_Wtf is groundhogging?_

_Y'know when a groundhog keeps popping its head in and out of its hole._

_...I literally have no words._

_Arthur~ c'mon, you can talk to me. What's up?_

Alfred felt disgustingly guilty for continuing this charade, but hell if he wouldn't use it to his advantage when Arthur was driving him nuts like this. There were a couple extra instances of the groundhogging again. Then after a wait, an email popped up in his inbox. Alfred stared at the subject: **I Need to Tell You Something** for a long moment, his stomach churning, before he clicked it open.

_Alfred,_

_I do not know what, if anything, your son has told you. However, I have come to a realization recently that pertains to him. You should know that I have the greatest respect for him and I would never do anything to dishonour him. However, I have come to realize that I have tender feelings for him, the extent of which I have yet to fully discover myself._

_That being said, I would like your blessing to find out. I can imagine the sound of that would cause you a great amount of apprehension, given my track record. Please know that I have never felt this way about anyone before. If I am being honest, it's frightening. Moreover, I do not even know if your son returns my sentiments._

_You should know that I highly value your opinion on the matter. I know that I am significantly older than your son and that you are highly protective of him. I swear unto you that I will treat him with the greatest of care and I will continue to do so even if my affections are rejected. I love him, truly, with all my heart._

_Yours,_

_Arthur_

The vampire read the words over and over again, to the point that they were beginning to blur and become foreign to him. After many long moments, he realized that he had forgotten to breathe and the human habit suddenly kicked in. There. Arthur had said it. Maybe not directly to his face, but he had done it. However, this only heightened Alfred's anxiety rather than diminish it. He had hoped that _knowing_ where Arthur's heart lay would provide some stabilizing force, but instead the knowledge had simply reeled him into frightened indecision. Alfred let out a shuddering breath, a tiny part of him wishing that Arthur had only made this all up while he was drunk and changed his mind later. He would have been heartbroken, yes, but it would have been so much _easier._

Instead, he had the sensation of wading through a foggy mire, obstacles catching at his legs and threatening to trip him up as he strode forward. The only light ahead was a soft and hazy hope.

How could he think about letting anyone get close to him? Especially a human? Humans, they broke, they got old, they died. Arthur would be no different. And what of his cursed immortality? How could he keep this going with all the lies? How could he keep this going _without_ the lies? Their entire relationship was a complete sham.

He never felt more like a fraud. Never mind the whole vampire thing. He'd befriended Arthur, been friends with him for more than half of Arthur's life, but then upon meeting he'd fabricated this complicated mess of assuming two different identities, both of whom now meant a lot to the Brit. Seriously, who did shit like that?

Alfred had very nearly talked himself out of it when he texted Arthur.

_Hey, got your email._

_So, if I say I don't want you to pursue Alfie, you won't right?_

It was nearly a minute before Arthur responded.

_No, I would do so regardless. It's too late, I already told him how I feel._

For a second, Alfred thought he could feel the phantom pounding of his long-dead heart beating quickly in his chest. Fingers trembling, he typed in his response.

_What? I thought you cared about my opinion?_

_Oh, I do care. But to be perfectly frank, your son's opinion matters more than yours._

_Well, it sounds like you're going to do it anyway whether I want you to or not._

_Seems that way. Do I have your blessing?_

The vampire stared at his phone, breathless. What little blood he had in his system redirected itself to his cheeks. _I don't have a choice,_ he thought to himself. _Arthur's taking this out of my hands. Besides, I can still say no in person. This doesn't have to go anywhere. Maybe Arthur will just get bored._ Even he knew that his justifications were pretty pathetic, when he typed in his dubious response.

_...Just be careful._

Alfred didn't know whether that warning was for Arthur or for him.

~o~

Just when Alfred didn't think he could turn into even more of an emotional mess, Arthur held out on him for another _five whole days_. Their interactions hardly changed on the surface, going through the same back and forth of anti-social landlord and exasperat(ed/ing) tenant. Yet every so often, Arthur would pause and give Alfred a considering _look_. One that would make Alfred flustered and nervy, which only translated to being more agitated in their conversations.

By movie night, Alfred was about ready to spill _everything._ Just so that Arthur would know that _he_ knew, even though Arthur already knew that he knew because of the drunk call, which -by the way- why was Arthur not bringing that up at all, _what was he doing torturing Alfred with anticipation like this_?

It was Arthur's turn to pick the movie. It was some Shakespeare play, so Alfred prepared himself to be bored the entire time. (Shakespeare wasn't any good unless a good brawl broke out in his opinion.) The author brought out popcorn and red wine to the coffee table, settling himself on the other side of the sofa before he set the movie up. The words **Henry V** came up, before the screen turned into mediocre production tape and overly lyrical English.

It was all that Alfred could do not to blatantly stare at Arthur, his entire body tense. The unsaid thing was sitting between them like an elephant on the couch and the vampire's every nerve was jittery, hyper-aware of the warm body nearby. It was like the Want, yet he couldn't feel his teeth aching or his hunger urging him forward. Instead, he just felt like he would explode.

Alfred physically jerked, when Arthur's hand suddenly reached over and touched his shoulder. "Come lay down," he said gently. His own green eyes seemed to have a mesmerizing effect on the vampire, who nodded mutely and shifted to lay his head down on top of Arthur's lap. They'd both done this before. They were close friends. No big deal. No. Big. Deal.

Predictably, the Brit pulled a blanket up over Alfred, fussing that he was so cold (like always). His fingers went to Alfred's scalp, combing through the soft blond hair in slow soothing circles. This, Arthur had done before too. Yet Alfred had to fight down every urge to think that this was of any significance even when it felt like Arthur's fingers were charged with electricity. God, didn't Arthur _realize _what he was doing to him?

By Act 5, Alfred was such a bundle of nervous energy that he even drank a little bit of the wine that Arthur offered him. It was a mistake. His stomach roiled, not knowing what to do with the indigestible liquid, adding to his confused, cold, sweaty state of anxiety. So distressed, he almost missed the familiar words spoken from the scratchy record on screen.

_...I cannot look greenly nor gasp out my eloquence, nor I have no cunning in protestation; only downright oaths, which I never use till urged, nor never break for urging..._

Alfred went still. His eyes took in the players on the screen, the young English king and the French maiden he wooed for her affection.

_...I speak to thee plain soldier: If thou canst love me for this, take me: if not, to say to thee that I shall die, is true; but for thy love, by the Lord, no; yet I love thee too..._

His blue eyes flicked up to Arthur, meeting the author's own green. The monologue kept going, but Alfred was caught frozen in time. Arthur smiled down at him. His hand stayed atop Alfred's neck as he leaned down, pressing a kiss to his temple. His lips and his breath were so sweet and warm. Alfred could not help the faint tremble that went through him.

_...but a good heart, Kate, is the sun and the moon; or, rather, the sun, and not the moon; for it shines bright and never changes, but keeps his course truly. If thou would have such a one, take me; and take me, take a soldier; take a soldier, take a king._

Then Arthur spoke softly, murmuring in perfect unison to the English king.

"_...And what sayest thou then to my love? Speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee."_

The vampire stared up at him, his breath shuddering softly. The play droned on, but neither of them were listening. Arthur watched him with those luminous green eyes, waiting silently for his reply. Alfred swallowed hard, then spoke shakily, heart pouring into every word, "I don't deserve the sun..."

Arthur blinked. Then his smile slowly widened. Cupping Alfred's cheeks, he leaned down to brush the mist away from his blue eyes. "Don't worry. I will never burn you."


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

~o~

Over the next few days, things were decidedly awkward between Alfred and his tenant. This new dynamic to their relationship seemed to catch them both off guard. Things had been so easy between them before with their playful banter and affectionate gestures. Now it seemed as though all those same actions were completely foreign to them, now laced with undertones of something _more._ Even though Alfred was pretty sure that that undercurrent had been there all along.

What made him paranoid was that Arthur developed a sudden reticence to speaking his mind. Instead he would chew his lip, pulling back instead of making demands. Alfred suspected that the author was trying to be considerate and sensitive, but it was driving Alfred _nuts_.

The problem was, Alfred wasn't really sure what to expect from a redefining of their relationship. He'd seen a rom-com or two (or twenty). Yet he was left feeling horribly unprepared. Dosing humans with pheromones for food didn't exactly make for good practice for lasting relationships. He didn't know what Arthur expected from him. Gifts? Dates? ...Sexting? Were they even officially _in_ a relationship? All they did was vaguely confess to one another.

How would a relationship even work anyway? There was that entire immortality thing that he couldn't get past. Arthur was bound to notice in a few years. Not to mention, he _still_ was pretending to be his own father, even though he was trying to gradually pull back from texting Arthur so much. _Maybe it would be easier just to turn him into a vampire,_ Alfred thought with a mental scoff.

He stared up at his ceiling, sensing Arthur above as he got ready for his "day." Though Arthur had more or less adjusted to Alfred's schedule over the months, taking to do his work at night and sleeping during the day. It quite suited his love of going out and enjoying New York's nightlife. Arthur could practically be a vampire already, couldn't he?

_Al, stop it,_ he berated himself, though he couldn't really consider turning Arthur. Sure, he went a little nuts when Arthur turned 20, but he knew that being a vampire would just make Arthur miserable. Hell, it made _him_ miserable. Besides, he couldn't even vamp Arthur if he tried. Ghouling the love of his life was not exactly a great way to start a relationship.

Alfred studied the ceiling, pretending that the footsteps above were the sound of his beating heart. He did love Arthur dearly. He loved his mind, his wit, those beautiful green eyes. He could lose himself in them for hours.

Come to think of it, he could just... spend more time with him, couldn't he? Honestly, he just wanted to be close to Arthur for the sake of it, awkward relationship expectations be damned. Just being with Arthur made him feel insecure and safe all at the same time. He kind of liked the feeling, weird as that was. It was probably like how flying would feel. Yeah, they could just hang out. See where things went? That's what humans did, didn't they? Just enjoy the moment? God, when was the last time he'd ever even considered that?

Right, he was totally doing this. Alfred hopped up to his feet and marched up the stairs with purpose. If Arthur noticed anything weird down the line, he'd deal with it then.

Arthur was in the middle of making tea when he blinked in startlement at Alfred's sudden presence. "Can I join you?" Alfred asked as he sat himself at the kitchen table.

When Arthur smiled with delight, Alfred felt his long-dead heart soar.

~o~

Arthur was not used to taking his so-called relationships slowly. Before this, his life had been nothing but flash-bang flings and one-night stands. Something that he was completely unashamed of. After all, life was short, so why hold back from a good time?

This was different. Alfred was special. He didn't want to scare the boy or force him into a situation that made him uncomfortable. He needed Alfred to feel special. He _needed _to not mess things up.

...even so this current state of affairs was _painful_. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the kitchen table, looking at the boy across from him. It had been two weeks since his confession to Alfred. They had not even so much as kissed since then. It seemed that in attempting not to spook Alfred and he only ended up waiting for cues that never came.

Was there some sort of miscommunication? He thought he had made himself perfectly clear.

"I love you," Arthur said suddenly and was treated to the sight of Alfred faltering and then giving him a warm smile.

"Love you, too," the boy said (he should really stop thinking of him as a boy) and then gestured to Arthur's plate. "You should eat your lunch before it gets cold." Arthur looked pointedly at Alfred's cup of hot water. It was the only thing that he ever saw Alfred consume without any prompting. That said, it was still _water._ Anyway, Alfred caught his look and didn't press him further.

Right, so clearly it wasn't a matter of miscommunication. Misunderstanding then? Did Alfred somehow mistake his intent as an overabundance of parental affection? Arthur _was_ only five years younger than his father. Trying not to think about that too much, the author wondered exactly how he was supposed to express his true meaning without overstepping.

So, he tried again.

"Your bum looks sexy in those jeans," he said, waiting for a reaction. He was rewarded with a wet splutter, a flash of panic and flustered fidgeting. Arthur honestly didn't know what to make of it. Not only that, the reaction rather made him feel like a dirty, old man.

Seeing his expression, Alfred immediately apologized. "S-sorry! I don't really, um. Yeah, I don't get compliments a lot. Not real ones, anyway." He gave Arthur a tentative smile. "Thanks."

Not real compliments? What the bloody hell did that mean?

Something ugly was building inside him. He thought back on that fateful party and how easily Alfred had taken Francis down into the basement with him. Jealousy snarled at his insides, making him want to toss the breakfast table over in a rage. Then came the gut-wrenching reminder of what came of that particular encounter and he only succeeded in making himself feel sick.

The smile on Alfred's face faltered when he looked over at Arthur. The author didn't even know what emotion was displayed on his features, but it couldn't have been good. "Did... did I do something wrong?" Alfred asked nervously. That bad, was it?

Arthur tapped his fingers on the table again and then decided he should just have out with it. "Alfred," he said after a long moment, "you don't seem particularly _interested_ in what I have to offer."

"Oh..." Alfred frowned. Then his eyes went wide in realization. "Oh!" Then to Arthur's horror and confusion, the boy began to laugh. Arthur had absolutely no idea what was so funny. "Oh man, sorry about that," Alfred giggled as he tried to get a hold of himself. "I didn't realize you were just sexually frustrated. I'm relieved."

_...What?_

However, a slow, sly smile that had no business _whatsoever _being on the boy's sweet face halted any indignant protests. The sight of it made Arthur heat all over and he shivered at the sharp contrast of Alfred's cool hand as it touched his cheek. Good _lord_, he had somehow forgotten about Alfred's unnatural ability to get him hot at the drop of a hat. He panted softly, leaning into Alfred's palm and nipping at the calloused fingers.

"God, _please,_" Arthur hissed, trailing his lips reverently up along the soft skin of Alfred's arm. Something familiar trilled in the background. Phone, maybe. Honestly, he didn't give a shit. Not when Alfred was smirking, eyes half-lidded as he watched Arthur come undone.

"Do you want to feel good, Arthur?" he asked, sliding his hand down to come underneath Arthur's shirt. It felt like ice against him and for a crazed moment, he wondered if Alfred would melt. "Do you want me to make you feel good?"

Damn him, but he whimpered in response, a soft keening noise he didn't think he was capable of making emitting from his throat. "Y-yes, yes, yes," he hissed, unbelievably aroused. "I want to. Alfred, can we- bed-" it felt like every nerve was on fire and he arched up towards his partner. "I need you..."

Everything was turning into a heady red haze, as though he had been drugged. All he wanted to do was to devour and be devoured. He was ready to _drown._ Only two strong arms kept him afloat. Pushed him down into his own bed. Made him writhe in pleasure until darkness came over his senses.

When Arthur next awoke, the bright morning light was glaring into his eyes. Then the pain hit. His temples throbbed with a headache and every part of his body felt loose and disconnected. Simply put, he couldn't move. At the same time, he'd never felt so _sated _in his life.

He cast his gaze around looking for Alfred to tell him so, but then realized he couldn't see his lover anywhere. "Alfred?" he called out. "Alfred!"

Wait, was he not even here? Wasn't it... Wasn't it good form to stay with your partner after your first act of intimacy? He suspected that Alfred was down in the basement hiding away from the sun, but he couldn't help but be offended. Arthur's head flopped back in his pillows, glaring at the ceiling as he waited to be able to use his limbs again.

What was worse... he couldn't even remember what happened past the kitchen.

For the first time, Arthur wondered if he had somehow gotten involved with an incubus.

~o~

When Arthur finally got around to getting up, his phone had a missed call from a local number. He'd considered ignoring it before he recognized the number from a certain Columbia professor. He redialled.

"Fis is Dr. Negrescu," came the heavily accented voice.

"Vlad, this is Arthur," the author replied. "You called?"

"Ah yes, Arthur," the professor said, affecting an amiable tone. "I had uondered if you had any luck in convincing your friend to come in."

Arthur flushed. To be honest, he had forgotten all about that. "Ah, no. Not yet. He's not willing to come in." Now he felt awkward pressing with the pair of them being in such a new and delicate situation.

"Ah, normal in many patients," Vlad said much to Arthur's surprise. "Many are afraid to hope for fear of disappointment. For some, it is crushing. If one has experienced many disappointments, it may be easier to never dare. It is a valid concern."

"Oh..." Arthur said, a spike of guilt stabbing through him. He had simply assumed that Alfred was being obstinate. Had he been pushing him too far? "I... Well, that may explain it."

"Uell, he need not be herded into my laboratory," Vlad said kindly. "If I could simply have a uord uit him fen I can easily determine if further testing should prove necessary."

Arthur was still unsure. He didn't particularly care for the idea of manipulating Alfred into that sort of situation. Even if he was pissed at Alfred at the moment. "I cannot just invite you over to the house. I'm sorry. I'll let you know if the occasion ever arises."

"I see," Vlad said in clipped politeness. "Let me know if anyfing changes." With that the professor hung up, leaving Arthur with the vague feeling that he was in the doghouse. He shook the feeling off as he headed gingerly down to the basement.

Predictably, Alfred was on his computer. Though it didn't look like gaming... And what was he drinking? It wasn't water. Arthur frowned at the screen (and the drink), stepping lightly down the steps to not disturb his young landlord. Alfred jerked, sensing him anyway and looked up at Arthur with a guilty start. The pouch was immediately tossed in the trash and Alfred shut down the windows.

Very suspicious...

"Alfred," Arthur said, "were you drinking something other than water?"

"I- uh- um," Alfred stammered, his lips and tongue cherry red. It looked like he was drinking a children's fruit beverage. "...Maybe?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes. That he was going to ask about at some point, but for right now he had a much more pressing concern. He sat himself down beside Alfred, arms and legs crossed as he leveled the boy a stern look. "You weren't in bed with me when I awoke..."

Alfred's eyes widened before he shifted awkwardly. "Oh. Yeah, but- You know how cold I am. I'd just make you uncomfortable. You looked so peaceful sleeping..." he said in such a sweet manner it had an immediate disarming effect.

_Arthur, no. Stay mad at him. Stay mad._ Gah, it was so bloody difficult! Especially with those damned wide blue eyes.

Arthur dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. "I've gotten used to it. Truly." Alfred looked skeptical, but the author continued on. "What matters more to me is that you're _there._ Quite frankly, I felt as though I were a hired whore. A drugged, hired whore. As if you only used me."

At this, the young man turned paler than he already was, making Arthur's heart wrench. Suddenly he found himself going completely off script, berating himself for his harshness. "N-not that I'm complaining," he stammered. "Really. I'm sure that it was a wonderful time. If I could remember it. ...You didn't drug me, right?"

"N-no!" Alfred cried out in horror, voice too squeaky to be completely convincing. "I'm sorry, Arthur. I didn't- I thought you'd be happy about feeling that good."

"Well..." Arthur worried his lower lip. He was still half convinced he had been drugged (having been under maybe more than once), but Alfred _did_ look quite sorry. "I don't suppose you could tone it down... could you?" _Ugh_, he was so weak to Alfred's charms. It was pathetic.

"I... I can try," Alfred replied weakly, before his voice twisted with plaintive regret. "Arthur, I'm _really_ sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel that way. I would never want you to feel taken advantage of. No one's ever complained about it before... I-I mean, yeah. No one's complained before." Arthur had the unpleasant reminder of Francis once more. "But I don't know what else I'm good at besides mind blowing sex and apparently I suck at that too! This whole relationship thing is completely out of my depth! I don't know what I'm supposed to do! I really suck at this!"

"Hey~ hey," Arthur hushed, taking Alfred by the arms. "It's fine. Really. You just need to _tell_ me that. I was so happy when you wanted to spend time with me. Let's just... let's just work on that, shall we? What exactly is it that you want out of this?"

"I... I want..." Alfred started, his voice growing thick. "I want to feel loved, by you. And I want to make you happy. But I really don't know how..."

"Okay..." the author spoke, giving Alfred a tentative smile. His hand rose, brushing his fingers through the younger man's hair. "I apologize. I will try to make my needs more apparent. I suppose that it wasn't fair to you to try to shield you from that."

"No shit," Alfred replied sulkily.

"So, let's start small shall we?" Arthur smiled, deliberately ignoring the boy's quip. "I would like..." he hummed, looking up in thought, "to go out with you. Oh, and you need not pay for it. I can take care of that. However, I would like to do an activity. With you. Outside the house."

"Like a club...?" Alfred asked, looking horrified.

"Not necessarily," Arthur replied, though he did very much want that. It would likely be a bit too much for Alfred to take right now, judging from the expression on the boy's face. Best to try something a bit more low-key. "How long has it been since you've been to a museum? A concert? A play?"

"...You don't really want to know," Alfred replied.

"So...?" Arthur prompted, waiting for an answer. Alfred worried his lip, putting more thought into this than the author thought warranted. But then, the boy smiled and nodded.

"Okay. So long as there's not a ton of people, I think I'll be okay."

Right, he'd forgotten that Alfred was fearful of crowds. (Which begged the question as to why he was living in New York.) Oh well, he wasn't about to complain. At least he'd gotten Alfred to agree. "Brilliant," the author said, reaching over to give Alfred a hug. The boy tensed, but Arthur ignored it. He was used to Alfred being skittish. "So, what would you like to do first?"

After some thoughtful deliberation, Alfred replied with a smile, "I want to see Lady Liberty."

It took everything Arthur had to keep his expression completely neutral. "...What?" he asked lightly, as though he hadn't heard correctly. Good _lord_. Even ascending the Empire State Building would have been preferable.

"I haven't seen the old girl in a really long time," Alfred grinned, oblivious to Arthur's mounting horror. He took Arthur's arm, laying the charm on extra thick with his big, pretty blue eyes. "Can we go see her? Please, Arthur? Please~?"

With that Arthur knew he was sunk.

~o~

Alfred had never seen Arthur look so unhappy.

The pair of them were on-deck on one of the cruises that passed by Lady Liberty by night, which the Brit arranged since it turned out you couldn't exactly access the island after dark. It was a lonely venture, since not many wanted to go out onto the Hudson in the dead of winter. The icy gale coming through the bay from the Atlantic was also particularly strong, seeming to ignore thick wool and fleece to turn bones to ice.

It didn't really bother Alfred all that much, his attention fixed on just being out over the water and in the open after so long. He was as happy as a clam, his arms hooked over the railing as he peered up in awe at the (now green) statue that had once greeted him on his own arrival to New York. Thankfully, he didn't have to do the whole Ellis Island thing, as he was in the Americas for a while already. Immigration agents, no all civil servants, were the bane of his existence.

On the other hand, Arthur was miserable. He stood beside Alfred, stiff as a board and shuddering violently whenever a gust of wind passed right through him. Alfred couldn't help himself but laugh. He'd never seen Arthur like this. "What's wrong? I thought you Brits were supposed to be maritime champions," he teased, yelling over the night wind.

Arthur looked ready to hit him, his green eyes flashing with indignation. "I've got perfectly sound sea legs!" he snapped back, his voice shaking from the cold. "Just because I can handle being on a boat doesn't mean I have to like it!" He took a flask out of his pocket and tossed it back, gaining a little bit more color to his cold-flushed face. For some reason, Alfred had no doubt that it was rum. Arthur went to muttering under his breath. Something about being a writer, not a sailor, as well as a few choice curses.

The vampire looked at the flask with interest. "Can I see that?" he asked, pointing to the silver container. Arthur looked doubtful, but immediately handed it over. Alfred ran his fingers over it, admiring the silver etching and the beautifully monogrammed '_A_'. What a neat little idea. Maybe he should keep one of these himself and just fill it up with an emergency stash of blood. "Thanks," he said, handing the flask back, "it's really cool."

Arthur glanced down at the proffered flask. "Keep it," he said, burying his nose into his scarf. "I can get another."

Alfred blinked and looked down at the flask. A gift? Was this his first real relationship gift? His eyes strayed up to Arthur, whose cheeks were cherry red and whose eyes were fixed pointedly on the bright cityscape in front of them. Definitely a gift. A broad smile spread over Alfred's face and he wrapped Arthur up into a tight hug and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you! I'll treasure it forever," he said, his happiness brimming over into a giddy laugh.

At this, Arthur looked slightly less miserable even as he groused, "Oh, let go. You're not even keeping me warm, you ice cube." He struggled half-heartedly against Alfred's grip. "Christ, Alfred. Where on earth do you get that strength in those straw arms of yours?"

"Not telling!" Alfred chirped, refusing to let the author go quite yet. He'd never been so happy before. This was what a real relationship was like. Easy affection and camaraderie. And with someone he'd cared about for nearly two decades. No, someone he _loved._

Absolutely _nothing_ could ruin this-

"Vhat is going on?"

Oh God_dammit._

Both the vampire and the author turned to the voice, jumping out of their skin when they saw the massive form of Ivan looming over them. Alfred was too stunned to speak, his mouth agape as he stared up at the slav. Thankfully, Arthur found his voice first. "We should be asking you that!" he growled, clearly irritated at being interrupted. "Is this what you do on your time off? Follow people around and disturb their privacy?"

Ivan simply ignored him, his grey-lavender eyes boring in on Alfred instead in stony silence. It was difficult not to be intimidated by the cold _nothingness_ that came off the huge man. Come to think of it, he didn't even remember seeing Ivan _get on_ the boat. Alfred swallowed heavily, but tilted his chin up in defiance. "We were just out enjoying ourselves. Is that a crime?"

"Niet. Not yet," the slav doctor replied. He studied them both now with his chilling gaze. "You are being very close," he remarked. It would have sounded casual if Alfred didn't know the undercurrent of accusation in his voice. "Vhy?"

"That's not any of your-" Arthur started, just as Alfred blurted out, "We're on a date!" The author's head whipped over to him, eyes wide as his cheeks colored prettily. Alfred flushed in return, but he was determined to stand his ground.

"Ah," was all Ivan said. Then after a lengthy, awkward pause, he added, "Zen, I vill chaperone."

Both Alfred and Arthur stared. "You've got to be fucking shitting me," Arthur muttered.

After that, things became incredibly uncomfortable. Since all three of them were essentially stuck together on the boat until it docked, Alfred and Arthur were unable to escape Ivan who only followed them wherever they tried to flee on deck. They even managed to slink away to the restroom, only to nearly have a heart-attack when they opened the door to find Ivan looming outside. Any vitriol on Arthur's part had no effect on him, completely buffeted against the man's stony exterior. Always, his eyes followed them, watching for any untoward behaviour on Alfred's part, waiting to see if the vampire would give in to his baser desires.

When the boat finally did dock an agonizing _two hours later,_ the pair of them ran from the boat at top speed. Even in the taxi home, Alfred had the uneasy feeling they were still being watched. Neither of them relaxed until they finally reached the brownstone and the doors were locked securely behind them.

That was when Arthur exploded. "What the fuck was that all about!" he cried, throwing his coat and shoes down on the floor out of aggravation. The shoes bounced against the floor with sheer force and Alfred had to duck aside to miss being hit. "The gall of that man to insert himself into our outing like that! I want to know what right he thought he had to do that!" Instantly, he whirled on Alfred, his eyes like angry green lanterns.

Alfred held his hands up in defense. "I don't know!" he cried out, trying to deflect Arthur's wrath away from him. "He's never done that before! B-but I've never been on a date before, so..." His words trailed off awkwardly, as he wrung his hands.

Arthur's gaze softened somewhat, though he was still intensely annoyed. His hands went to his hips and he squared himself up to the vampire. "Alfred, I want you to tell me about him. I realize that he's your... _doctor,_" he said the words with a shiver a revulsion, "but this behaviour is absurd." He stopped and then gave Alfred a long considering look that made the vampire sweat out of nerves. "Did you and he used to date?" he suddenly demanded.

Alfred blinked. Then he let out a bark of laughter. The idea was so absurd that he couldn't _stop_ laughing. Arthur flushed with irritation and embarrassment, while the vampire couldn't help but keel over onto the couch, laughing so hard that tears pricked the corners of his eyes. "Right, that's enough!" Arthur snapped, bristling as Alfred howled with laughter. "I get the point!"

Eventually, Alfred managed to calm himself into giggling fits. Oh man, his sides _ached. _He grinned up at Arthur from his prone position on the couch. "Arthur... Are you jealous?" he teased, waving Arthur to come closer. The author stayed right where he was, his arms folded over his chest. Yet his darkening cheeks seemed to confirm Alfred's words. Alfred pushed himself up to the couch and leaned out to tug Arthur closer by the sleeve of his shirt. Eventually, he managed to wrap his arms loosely around Arthur's waist, looking up at the author with all smiles. "You don't need to be jealous, Arthur," he said softly. The Brit kept stubbornly silent. So Alfred tried something else. "I love you..." he murmured, taking one of Arthur's hands to press a delicate kiss to his knuckles. He could _hear _Arthur's pulse quicken and his smile broadened. "I love you, Arthur..." he spoke again, his lips pressed against Arthur's palm.

Just like that, all the remaining stubbornness fell away like a sand castle dissolving into the rising tide. Arthur melted against him, sliding down to the couch beside Alfred to press a kiss to Alfred's lips. Alfred gasped at the sudden heat, giving Arthur ample opportunity to shove him down onto his back and straddle his hips. A sudden wave of insecurity came over him, unused to being put into this position. Especially without using his pheromones, which he'd promised himself he wouldn't use on Arthur again. He squirmed when he felt the author's hand come up underneath his shirt. "A-Arthur, wait..." What was Arthur going to do when he found out Alfred couldn't-

"Shhh," Arthur hushed gently, his brow pressed to the vampire's own. "I won't do anything you don't want me to..." He reached up, stroking Alfred's cool cheek. Those green eyes, like bright emeralds, pinned Alfred down and made his chest ache en lieu of his missing heart.

Breathless, Alfred nodded his assent. Smirking, Arthur came down upon him, ravaging Alfred's mouth with his lips. The vampire could feel himself growing heated, Arthur warming Alfred up with his roving hands, his hot breath, the friction between their bodies. He whimpered softly, a hungry, needy sound he hadn't made for centuries. Despite the vampire leaching Arthur's body heat, he could feel the Brit growing warmer above him, blood rushing through him like ambrosia. God, it was intoxicating... Alfred pressed his nose to Arthur's throat, inhaling the warm musky smell, nearly tasting the hot coppery blood just underneath that delicate patch of ivory skin. He groaned, pressing kisses up along the underside of Arthur's jaw.

So drunk was he on heat and smells, that Alfred didn't notice Arthur's hand slide down his waist and hips, feeling him up. However, he noticed immediately when the warm body on top of him jerked to a screeching halt and the heat was suddenly replaced with cold air. "Arthur, what...?" Alfred asked, still dizzy with the Want.

Arthur stared at him, his green eyes wide with shock. "You..." he said after a long moment. "You're not even _hard_."

The situation hit Alfred like a ton of bricks as he finally realized what Arthur was groping. With a yelp, he scurried back out from under the author, going out of his reach. "I- I wasn't-! It's not what you think!" he cried out.

Arthur only stared at him. After a long moment, he swallowed hard and said thickly, "Alfred, are you... not attracted to me? Am I too old for you? Was before just a fluke?"

This was so ridiculous. Alfred wanted to scream with frustration and laugh at the same time. _Why_ did he think it was a good idea to go without the pheromones?

"I can't... I just can't!" Alfred cried, punching the couch hard enough to make the cushion frame creak. Breath shuddering, he looked up to Arthur with misty eyes. "I'm sorry. I've never been able to... Even last time. Y-you just don't remember... _I'm_ the one there's something wrong with. Not you. _Never_ you. I swear..."

At Alfred's genuine distress, Arthur came back to him once more, his expression gentle and his hands loving. "Alfred..." he spoke softly, reaching out to gather the vampire up into his arms. Alfred came willingly, wrapping his arms tightly around the human's fragile person. "It's okay..." the author hushed, patting Alfred's back. "It's okay, love. This doesn't affect _anything._ I still love you. It's okay..."

Alfred hiccuped, letting Arthur comfort him as he only allowed himself a spare moment of relief, feeling as though he'd nearly lost Arthur before they even started. But... who knew how many other oddities and inadequacies Arthur would accept without question. That question filled him with dread, long after he'd quit the world and headed back downstairs before the sun rose.

~o~

As soon as Alfred was safely tucked away in the basement and the sun had risen, Arthur rang up Francis.

*_Qui est à l'appareil?_* came the Frenchman's exhausted voice. No doubt just come in from a long night of clubbing.

"It's me, frog," Arthur all but snarled.

There came a groan from the other end. *_Putain! Do you not know what time it iz! What do you want so early in ze morning!_*

"I don't care," the Brit snapped back at him. "I want to know what _exactly _you did with Alfred. Tell me right now, or so help me..."

*_Mon Dieu, not zis again. I already told you. Nous avions une nuit d'un amour brûlant, profondément passionné_,* Francis rambled around a loud yawn. It struck Arthur as highly suspicious. That was what Francis said last time...

"Lies," Arthur hissed, his hand tightening around his phone. "If you did, you would have gone into nauseatingly specific detail by now! You didn't do a damned thing with him, did you! You lying, son of a-"

*_Alright! Alright!_* Francis snapped back. *_Zut alors, you are like a bleating goat dying alone in a cabbage patch!_* Arthur had _no_ idea where that highly specific simile came from. *_Very well, since you are so insistant. Ze truth iz... j'ai oublié._"

The admission made Arthur freeze. "You... you forgot?" he echoed.

*_Are you deaf? What did I just say!_* the cranky Frenchman shot back. *_All I remember is ending up in ze hôpital! Now, excusez-moi, I need my beauty sleep._*

"Francis, wait-" Arthur started. However, Francis threw him a particularly colourful curse and hung up on him. "Stupid, onion-nibbling frog," he muttered, tossing his phone back onto the bed. All he wanted was confirmation that Alfred was telling him the truth about his problem. However, with this new information, he couldn't help but think back to his own first time with Alfred. Drugs then. Definitely drugs. Clearly, it had something to do with Alfred's problem. Did that mean that he had to use whenever he wanted sex?

...no wonder he had to go into rehab.

Well. Now this _was _a challenge. Folding his hands together, Arthur smiled to himself, "Alfred Jones, you won't be needing any drugs when I'm around..."


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

~o~

Alfred played with his silver flask, idly tracing his fingers over the monogrammed '_A_'. He lay curled against Arthur's side, the pair of them cozied up on the couch as they watched their Thursday film. Arthur's hand slipped underneath the blanket, sliding his fingers over Alfred's thigh. "Not gonna work," Alfred said absently, making Arthur huff with annoyance beside him.

"I don't see why I cannot try," the author muttered. Ever since their spectacular failure of a sexual session, the Brit seemed to take it as a personal challenge to get Alfred up.

"I didn't say you _couldn't_. I just said it wasn't gonna work," the vampire grinned. He put the flask aside, twisting around to press Arthur up into the couch. "But I know what else you can try instead..." he murmured, letting his breath gently flutter over Arthur's bare skin and his hands roam over the author's flesh. A tremble ran through Arthur, his eyes fluttering closed with desire.

"This is grossly unfair," he griped, enjoying Alfred's talented hands nonetheless. "I should be able to do the same to you."

"You do," Alfred assured him, smiling as he pressed a kiss to Arthur's lips. "You just can't tell. Drives you nuts, doesn't it?" His partner only let out a growl, his teeth nipping at Alfred's cool skin along his neck. Laughing, Alfred unbuttoned Arthur's trousers and the rest of the movie was promptly forgotten.

~o~

"Don't look now, but he's following us again."

Arthur cursed under his breath, his eyes glancing up to catch sight of the Russian in the reflection of the glass behind the bar. "You should put a restraining order on him," he muttered darkly, giving Ivan a sharp glare. He tossed back his whiskey and ordered another.

Alfred sighed, sipping his club soda and lime. "Arthur, just stop worrying about it. He hasn't done anything yet. Plus he's helped me out before."

The author gave him an incredulous look. "That hardly means he's allowed to harass you." However, the boy only shrugged and looked away. Arthur had no idea why Alfred put up with this when he clearly didn't enjoy being stalked. He chalked it up to one of the many secrets he was sure that Alfred was hiding. Granted, everyone was entitled to secrets. But for now, what mattered most was that Alfred loved him, which he knew without question. He wouldn't risk losing what they had just to satisfy his curiosity.

...Even if all the mysteries were driving him a bit _batty_.

In any case, Arthur didn't feel like rehashing the old Ivan argument right now. "Fine, we shall discuss it later. However, I have a question for you. Are you up for an outing?" he asked, changing the subject. He brought out his phone, displaying the invitation from his publisher. "It's my launch party for my new series."

Alfred tensed, which Arthur expected. Arthur was always considerate of the boy's crowd anxiety, hating the way Alfred's body shook as though he were about to go into a panic attack whenever he was in a press of bodies. Clubs were out of the question. As were movies on opening night. Concerts of popular bands. Consequently, Arthur's friends now found the author particularly dull. Like an "old married couple," they said. Arseholes.

However, now he wrapped a hand over Alfred's arm and squeezed gently. "It would mean a lot to me..." he murmured softly, pressing a kiss to Alfred's cheek. The younger man squirmed, muttering something about his drunken breath. Arthur ignored it, tracing his lips along Alfred's jaw. "Love, say yes~" he wheedled, his hand sliding down to the boy's waist.

"_Okay-okay-fine_," Alfred said in a rush of breath. "Now stop it. Seriously. Ivan's watching." He turned to look back at their watcher, but Arthur caught his chin and brought him into a hungry kiss instead. "Perv," he muttered breathlessly when his lips were free.

"Oh, but you love me," the author teased back. He bumped shoulders with him. "Thank you."

"Sure," Alfred grinned back fondly. Then his smile fell. "Wait, do I need a suit?"

~o~

New York City looked like a completely different world from the tinted windows of a limo. All the sounds were muted, the odors covered by the smell of expensive leather. The bright lights seemed brighter and the darks darker. It was almost like looking out at a comic book page of Gotham. Alfred stared out at it and up to the buildings scraping the clouds up above.

"Alfred, careful. Don't crease your tux," the author chided beside him, looking on the vampire in amusement.

"M'not a kid," Alfred shot back. However, he frowned as he saw crowds accumulating. Very well dressed crowds. Women in long brightly colored gowns, men in suits and tuxes. He craned his neck up again to see the brightly embossed letters WALDORF ASTORIA on the side of the stone building. The vampire felt his stomach sinking. "Um... Arthur?" he said in a small voice. "Exactly how big is this launch party?"

The author blinked, before he realized the source of Alfred's sudden anxiety. "Oh, it's really not that bad," he said quickly. "It's just more crowded out here, since everyone's trying to get in. Don't worry, my publishers will keep the press gangs off of us."

"Press gangs?!" Alfred squeaked, turning white as a sheet. Photographers! There were going to be fucking _photographers _at this thing! He couldn't have his picture taken! That was rule number fucking one of Vampires Anonymous! He was sure that the whole stupid myth about vampires not being seen in the mirror or in a camera was because of rule number fucking one!

Arthur's face bloomed into an expression of belated realization mixed with horror. However, it was too late, as the limo pulled up to the entrance of the hotel. Swallowing hard, Arthur patted Alfred's arm. "It's alright. It's alright, Alfred. We'll just go through the back. It's not a problem. Driver!"

But the driver was missing. No, shit, the driver was at the door! Before anyone could stop him, the limo door swung open, flashes of light blinding Alfred until his vision grew spotty. The vampire froze solid, staring out at the press like a doe caught in the headlights. He scarcely noticed Arthur get out of the other side, adjusting his tux with a roll of his shoulders. The author came over to his side, blocking Alfred from the cameras with his body. "Alfred," he said softly. "I'm very, very sorry about this. I swear I will make it up to you later. But _please_ come with me. It won't last long I promise."

Alfred reached into his jacket and took a quick swig from his flask. Then he nodded faintly, taking Arthur's proffered hand. Stepping out into the spotlight felt like he was stepping out into the sun, with just as deadly consequences. Walking through the crowd was like trudging through a desert without any water, suffocating and disorienting. However, Arthur shook his shoulder and he suddenly realized that they were in the middle of an opulent ballroom shimmering with gold. "You did it," Arthur beamed at him. "I'm so proud of you, Alfred. You're getting so much better."

_My life is over..._ Alfred only nodded faintly, his mind whirling as he thought of his picture being all over the papers. All over the internet. What if somebody recognized him? One of his old tenants? His old employers? It was all _ruined._

Arthur was oblivious to his inner turmoil, only patting Alfred on the cheek to pull him out of his daze. Everyone was already clamoring for his attention, from fans to production teams to agents, distracting the author. "Alright, come now. I have a few people that I need to talk to. Would you like to come with me or would you like to sit down?" Arthur asked, touching Alfred's shoulder.

"I- I'll just sit down," Alfred replied, hoping he could just crawl into a hole and hide for the rest of the party.

"Alright, I'll get you a drink," Arthur said softly. "Just sit yourself down and get comfortable." He leaned in to whisper in Alfred's ear, "I got us a room for later..." Alfred gave him a weak smile that died as soon as he was left alone with his club soda at a table in the corner. No one seemed to pay him too much mind, their attention instead drawn to his date. He didn't appreciate until quite this moment just _how _famous Arthur Kirkland was. (Though seriously, how else could he afford to pay $10k a month?)

Quite frankly he didn't appreciate it at all at the moment.

He felt dizzy and sick. There were so _many_ humans all around him, flushed with wine, the excitement, the heat of each other. He shut his cat-slit eyes, trying to block out the Want suddenly surging up in him.

_ . . ._

Breathing harshly, he pulled his flask out and emptied all the blood from it, hoping that it would help. It did nothing. _Nothing!_

"It is never enough, is it?" a dark, foreign voice spoke right in front of him. Alfred nearly jumped out of his skin, suddenly confronted by a strange man standing in front of him. He didn't even _sense_ the man coming up to him, even though his hunter's senses were so primed.

The tall blond smiled down at him. He nodded to the flask. "It is never enough, right?"

"None of your business," Alfred snapped, irritable from being so _hungry._ The man probably assumed that he was an alcoholic. However, he couldn't help but be unsettled by the stranger's presence. There was something wrong with him. Not like _Ivan_-wrong, but wrong.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," the man with the pearl earring tutted. "It is my business. Ue cannot have you go on a bloody rampage in ze middle of a party, now can ue?" Alfred froze, a sharp chill crawling over him. He looked up at the man in mute astonishment. The man in black smiled and held out a leather gloved hand. "Let me introduce myself," he said, as Alfred finally identified his accent as Eastern European. Though not slavic... "My name is Dr. Vladimir Negrescu, at your service."

Alfred narrowed his eyes. He'd heard that name before... Then like a bolt of lightning, it shot through him. "You!" he cried out, skidding his chair away. "You're that quack doctor that Arthur talked to months ago!"

"I can assure you, I am not a quack," the (Romanian? Yes, Romanian) doctor replied lightly, putting his hands behind his back when the vampire didn't accept it. Alfred's eyes immediately sought out Arthur, but he couldn't find him in the throngs of people. Did he know about this? "No, Arthur does not know about this," Dr. Negrescu said, as though reading Alfred's thoughts. "I am merely here to... satisfy a curiosity. I had assumed, rightly, that you uould accompany Arthur here tonight."

"Well sorry you came all this way for nothing," Alfred hissed, folding his arms over his chest. His cat-slit eyes burned into the man. "Now _leave me alone._" However, the Romanian only chuckled, completely unaffected by Alfred's entrancing gaze. Stunned, the vampire tried it again. "_I mean it. Go._"

This time, Dr. Negrescu outright laughed. Alfred stared at him in shock. "What... what _are _you?" he demanded, the conviction in his voice faltering from being caught off guard.

The doctor gave him an amiable smile, his red eyes dancing with mirth. Hell, how did Alfred not notice the man had _red eyes?_ "I am... like you," Dr. Negrescu replied delicately, "In a uay. Now, let us fix fis little problem, shall ue? Hold out your hand."

Like _hell_ he was going to hold out his hand for this-

Yet, of its own accord, Alfred's hand rose from his side, baring his lily-white wrist up in a submissive gesture. Alfred stared at it, jaw dropped, before noticing that the Romanian had pulled a smooth black bracelet with a silver clasp out of his bag. His arm tensed, trying in vain to pull his hand away from mid-air. However, he could do nothing as the man slid the bracelet over his wrist and clasped it shut.

Then the world exploded.

_He was fully exposed to the sun in the middle of the Sahara. _

_His body was burning up, flesh sizzling right off his bones. _

_He clutched his head and screamed in agony. _

_Everything was so bright. _

_Sun reflecting off shattered mirrors. _

_His bloody feet walked over the shards. _

_He was burning up. _

_He was turning to ash. _

_Oh God- Arthur, __**ARTHUR**__!_

Alfred suddenly collapsed against the table, bracing himself as he gasped for breath. No one around them noticed his sudden attack, oblivious as the vampire fought for consciousness. His whole body had broken out into a sweat and...

_B-bmp._

Something foreign thudded within him.

_B-bmp. B-bmp._

...No. _No._ That was _impossible._

_B-bmp. B-bmp. B-bmp._

His fingers shaking as badly as a leaf in a winter storm, Alfred put his hand to his own chest. His breath hitched as he felt it beat back at him, knocking gently like an old friend using a secret password. "Oh my God. Oh my _God,_" Alfred whispered, his words trembling violently. He turned his face up to the Romanian. "What did you just do?"

"I made a small adjustment," Dr. Negrescu replied amiably. "Fere are so few of your kind left. It uould be a travesty if you burnt to a crisp. Or uere discovered. Now, notice anything else?"

Alfred looked down and concentrated. No, nothing. There wasn't... His blue eyes snapped back up. "The Want's gone..."

"Ze Uant?" Dr. Negrescu chuckled. "You _are_ out of touch. How quaint. Uell, call it uat you uill, but you uill no longer have issue uit it. You are a beast no longer. For all intents and purposes, you are human like everyone else. You eat, you sleep, you breathe, you ualk in ze sun, everyfing."

Alfred held his breath. "Like Arthur?" he demanded, getting up from his seat.

The Romanian nodded. "Yes," he replied, "but you uill still retain some of your powers, underneath-" However, he didn't have a chance to say more before the vampire jumped up to his feet and picked the doctor up in a bone crushing hug.

"Thank you! Thank you so much! I don't know how I can ever repay you!" Alfred cried out, not noticing that his savior was getting squeezed to death.

"Quite alright-alright stop!" the doctor gasped. He was just as suddenly dropped to his feet, his entire arm nearly wrenched out of iit socket for Alfred's vigorous hand shaking as he continued to stammer out his gratitudes. "You are uelcome, Alfred Jones. However, I must insist you come to my office for a follow up. Perhaps fis Friday?"

"Y-yeah, okay," Alfred agreed quickly, his eyes already scanning the ballroom for any sign of his date. He couldn't remember the last time everything looked so colorful and vibrant, able to appreciate the surroundings rather than the exposed necks bared all around him. His heart drummed in his chest, making him want to dance to the literal beat of his own music. He just felt so _alive._ Finally, he spotted Arthur in a small circle of people, chatting and making polite conversation. His breath caught, taking in the author without the sub-label of _prey _for the very first time.

Slender, but masculine. High cheek bones and striking features. Broad shoulders tapered down to a slim waist, fitted perfectly by the sharp cut of his tux. A long pale neck he could never appreciate aesthetically before. That choppy blond hair that he knew was soft as chick down. Those very kissable lips pulled into a self-assured and charming smile. He even like the heavy eyebrows that only made the dazzling green eyes stand out even more.

_Holy shit_. How did he not realize just how _sexy _Arthur was? No wonder he sold so many flippin' books.

Before he knew what he was doing, and with scarcely a goodbye to Dr. Negrescu, Alfred was striding quickly across the ballroom through the crowd. Coming up behind Arthur's slim back, his heart hammered in his throat (he was going to have to get used to that) and casually touched Arthur's elbow. The author jerked, turning around in startlement. His eyes widened when he saw Alfred standing behind him. "Alfred? Is everything alright?"

The vampire gave him his most stunning smile. "Never better." He was treated to the sight of Arthur's cheeks blushing. Oddly, he could still _hear_ what was going on, as blood rushed up to the author's face. There was just no compulsion there to act on it. So instead he glanced around to the group. "Who are your friends?"

"What...? Oh!" Arthur stammered, getting a hold of himself. He immediately returned to that cavalier persona he put on for the public, gesturing to his group. "These are my publishers." He rattled off a bunch of names that Alfred honestly didn't care about, though he made a point to give them all a charming smile and shake their hands. Just because he _could._ He was also more than a little smug at seeing Arthur's look of astonishment.

"It's very nice to meet you all. But I was wondering if I could borrow Arthur for a little bit," he told the group, letting his eyes flash just a bit to enforce the suggestion. Naturally, they agreed, so the vampire gave them a small wave and led Arthur away.

"Alfred, what's wrong?" Arthur asked in a hushed voice, concern painted all over his features.

Alfred grinned. "Nothing's wrong," he assured Arthur softly. "Absolutely nothing." The Brit didn't even realize that Alfred had led them both onto the dance floor, so he was startled when the vampire pulled him into a slow waltz. "I just wanted to dance with my boyfriend."

Caught flat footed in more than one way, Arthur nonetheless recovered and kept pace easily. His cheeks coloring at the new title, Arthur nonetheless leaned into him, pressing his mouth close to Alfred's ear. "Please tell me you're not using something to make you so relaxed," he whispered.

Unable to help himself, Alfred laughed. Well, he was. In a way. His eyes glanced down at the mysterious black bracelet still clasped to his wrist. "I met Dr. Negrescu," he explained quietly. He felt Arthur's body tense against him. "No, it's okay. I know you didn't invite him. But you were right about him. He helped me out." He would never be able to explain _how,_ of course. "Thank you so, _so _much for finding him, Arthur. I'll never be able to repay you..."

Even as he flushed at the vampire's words, the Brit was ever the skeptic. "Right, but I still don't understand what he was _doing _here_._ And what- he was able to treat you _at the party?_ Besides, what would treating porphyria have _anything_ to do with curing crowd-anxiety? Not to mention-"

Alfred stopped his lips up with a rough, needy kiss. He was sure that he heard cameras flashing, but he honestly didn't care. When he pulled back, he panted softly for want of breath. Weird. _Fun._ It was like his lungs were all _tingly._

Arthur looked just as breathless, his features flushed with sudden desire. "You're warm..." he whispered huskily, brushing his fingers over Alfred's cheek.

"Is that bad?" the vampire asked softly.

"No..." Arthur said in a sigh of breath. Their brows pressed together, breath intermingling. There was nothing else in the entire room besides the two of them. "Everyone's looking," the author reminded him, though he didn't take his eyes away.

"Don't care."

"I have to work."

"_Really_ don't care," Alfred replied, his cheeks puffing up in a pout.

"_Alfred,_" Arthur chided without any real heat. Reluctantly, he gently pushed the vampire away. "Do I need to send you up to your room?" he asked with a mischievous glint to his eye.

"Yes please," Alfred grinned wide, that glint mirrored in his own eyes.

The author pressed himself close, so that the photographers wouldn't see as he pulled a keycard out of his pocket and slipped it into Alfred's jacket. "I'll meet you upstairs. _After_ I get done down here. Feel free to order room service and champagne while you wait." Then he pinched Alfred in that spot just below his ribs, just because he _knew_ what it did to his lover. Before the vampire could react, Arthur already whisked himself away to attend to his fans and well wishers.

Alfred let out an impatient huff. Well, he supposed that one of them needed to bring home the bacon. Sighing, he turned on his heel and headed out of the ballroom and to the lobby. He never noticed a pair of steel blue eyes following him out the door.

~o~

"Eighteen... eighteen..." the vampire mumbled to himself, looking for the specific room number on this floor. The opulence of the hotel carried up even into the guest rooms, although now dark corridors and the carpets were getting a bit of that dated old-hotel vibe to them. Well. He should talk. Actually, he was a bit surprised that Arthur didn't splurge on the penthouse suite, but he supposed that Arthur's wallet had _some_ limit to it.

Alfred paused mid-step. Wow. Arthur had _seriously_ spoiled him rotten. Chuckling to himself, he finally found their room and swung the door open. Immediately, his senses were assaulted with the smell of a greenhouse. The suite was packed with flowers, as well as chocolates and gift baskets, all gifts to Arthur from the various people he was no doubt talking to downstairs. Wrinkling his nose, Alfred found the smelliest ones and hid them in the closet. Then he changed into the courtesy silk pyjamas and hopped into the plush canopy bed.

_Bored..._ he thought, impatient for Arthur to _get up here_ already. He had a real, living body now. He should be able to _do something_ with it. However, from how popular Arthur was, he didn't think that the author was going to be able to get away for _hours. _Heaving a great sigh, Alfred flopped over onto the bed and turned on the TV. He found the History channel and his attention was immediately drawn to the story about aliens building the pyramids.

However, soon a smell completely different than the flowers wafted by. Something dark, something _sweet._ The foreign sensation of his stomach rumbling distracted him from the television, pulling his attention straight to the bizarre alluring smell. He vaguely recognized it as chocolate, but he never thought that it had ever smelled so _delicious._ His blue eyes trailed over to the stacks of boxes waiting for Arthur. He licked his lips. Okay, Arthur didn't really need _all_ that chocolate, did he? No, definitely not. He'd never get through it all.

Crawling across the bed, Alfred grabbed one of the boxes and opened it up in his lap. The scent only grew all the more pungent and he shakily picked up a decadent, little truffle. Dr. Negrescu _did_ say he could eat human food, right? Right. Sucking in a long breath, he delicately popped the chocolate into his mouth.

~o~

It was well past one in the morning when Arthur finally got away from the party. His cheeks hurt from smiling, his feet blistered from dancing, his eyes ached from all the flashing photography. All in all, it was a good night. However, he felt horribly guilty from leaving Alfred alone for so long. Especially when the boy had been so eager to get his hands all over him. Sighing heavily, he hoped that Alfred at least had a nice time in the luxurious surroundings.

When the door swung open to their suite, Arthur had to do a quick double take. There were empty boxes and wrappers strewn _everywhere._ It was a complete mess. Surely, he had accidentally wandered into someone else's room. However, when he picked up a lid labeled with a famous French chocolatier brand, it was addressed to _him._ "What in the..." he muttered, only to be interrupted by a faint moan coming from the archway to the bedroom.

Tip-toeing over the mess, the author stepped into the bedroom and found his culprit. A large lump lay curled up underneath the bed, shivering and groaning. Arthur stared in incredulity. "Alfred," he said, laying a hand on top of the mop of blond hair sticking out from underneath the blanket. The body went completely still.

"Yeah...?" the boy responded weakly.

"...Did you eat _all _the chocolate in the suite?"

There was a lengthy pause. "...Maybe?" Arthur stared harder, completely stunned. Good lord, there had to be fifty boxes in there. He wasn't angry, of course. All the chocolate would have gone into the trash anyway. (Though he wanted that Swiss brand, damn it.) However, his mind was still reeling from the fact that not only had all his chocolate disappeared, but it had all gone into the belly of the one who he'd never seen touch a morsel of food in all the months they'd been together. "Arthur, I don't feel so good..." the boy moaned piteously from underneath the blanket.

Despite himself, Arthur let out a bark of laughter. This entire situation was so _ridiculous._ He should be grateful that Alfred ate anything at all, even if he managed to make himself sick. "Alright, alright... Let's have a look at you," he murmured fondly, pulling the covers back up from over Alfred skinny body.

Alfred was green to the gills, his eyes watery as his arms curled around his distended stomach. Arthur tsked at him. "Honestly, you're worse than a five year old on Halloween. I cannot believe you actually made yourself sick," he muttered, threading his fingers through Alfred's hair as he sat down beside him. Alfred's skin was so _warm _and it was wonderful to see actual colour to his face, even if he was a bit peaked at the moment. The author had no idea what Vlad did, but he would have to thank him somehow.

The boy suddenly made a gagging sound and leaned over the bed to retch into the wastebin.

...Maybe he could start by sending fifty boxes of chocolates to Vlad's office.

~o~

The next morning, beams of sunlight shone into the hotel windows, filtered only by a thin layer of muslin curtains. Arthur's lashes flickered in his sleep, the Brit slowly rousing from being so unused to exposure to morning light. His eyes fluttered open, his mind still foggy. He let out a faint hum, curling closer to his boyfriend's body. Boyfriend. _Boyfriend._ He like the sound of that. He let out a faint hum, comfortably swathed in the warmth of the sun.

A second later, panic set in like a cold bucket of water. Shit, _the sun_! He jumped from bed, dashing over to close the curtains when he suddenly realized that he didn't hear Alfred crying out in pain or smell burning skin. His hand dropped from the curtain to his side and he turned around to look at his lover.

Alfred still lay dozing peacefully in bed, recovering from his illness in the middle of the night. However, as Arthur's spot cooled, he made a fretful noise and cracked open his tired, blue eyes. The sight of him took Arthur's breath away. Never had Alfred looked more beautiful, his blond hair shining like spun gold and his eyes sparkled like cut sapphire. Even his warm skin, still so pale, glowed like a candle in alabaster. Arthur had no doubt about it now. Alfred _belonged_ in the sun.

"Arthur...?" the boy questioned tiredly, rubbing his eyes with his fist. "Why's it so bright?"

The author swallowed and found his cracked voice. "That's... that's the sun, Alfred." The boy experienced the same instinctive wash of panic, his blue eyes snapping wide open and he tugged a canopy bed curtain down to shield himself. Arthur let out a laugh, heading over to the bed. "Alfred..." he said, peeking past the curtain where Alfred was hiding like a frightened kitten. Smiling, he waved the boy to come. "Alfred, come on out. It's safe. You're _fine_..."

Alfred didn't look like he believed him, doling the author a look of heavy suspicion.

"You've been sleeping out in the sun for at least the past hour," Arthur explained and pulled the curtain back. Alfred flinched when the light caught him, but as expected he didn't break out into sizzling lesions. Nonetheless, he sat stiffly in bed, staring at the sunlight reflecting off of his exposed skin. Arthur smiled at him, sitting down beside him in bed. "I'm so happy for you..." he spoke softly, leaning over to press a kiss to Alfred's neck.

Slowly, Alfred raised his hand out into the glow, feeling the light properly for what could be the first time in his life. "Is... is this real?" he whispered, still disbelieving. Just for that, Arthur pinched him in that sensitive spot just below Alfred's ribs, causing the boy to yelp and shiver. "Arthur, what the hell!" Alfred cried, flailing to get the Brit away from him. Then he caught Arthur's look. "What?"

Arthur coughed delicately, pointing down to Alfred's... tent. Alfred looked down and let out a sharp cry. He pulled one of the pillows off the bed and used it to cover his groin. He turned his back to Arthur, his face and ears burning in mortification. Arthur burst out laughing. The reaction was just _priceless._ "Shut up, it's not funny!" Alfred yelled back at him, humiliated.

Still in a fit of hysterical giggles, Arthur crowed, "Yes, it is!" He only laughed harder when Alfred threw a pillow at him. Biting his lower lip, the author did what he could to try to restrain himself so he didn't upset the boy's sensibilities _too _much. After all, he had _plans._ "Oh Alfred~" he cooed, walking two fingers up along the boy's spine. "Come on and look at me."

A sharp shiver ran through the boy, but he still continued to sulk. "Why should I?" he demanded childishly.

"Because I will make it worth your while~" the Brit replied in a sultry purr. That seemed to catch Alfred's attention. Slowly, he glanced over his shoulder. His eyes went wide when he saw the sharp, predatory smile stretched along Arthur's lips.

Screw the chocolates, Arthur was buying Vlad a car.


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

~o~

When it was time for Alfred's check-in with Dr. Negrescu, Alfred and Arthur went to his office together hand in hand. Alfred was nervous coming there with Arthur, since he burned with a thousand questions for the mysterious Romanian. However, the author felt entitled to come since he _did_ bring Alfred to the doctor's attention. Alfred couldn't fault him that.

Alfred was slowly getting used to being out in the daylight, so they came to Columbia University at dusk. Small doses, Arthur had said. Small doses. The vampire sucked in a breath that he desperately needed as they came up to the doctor's office door. It was strange to need it now, even though he'd always breathed out of habit.

Arthur touched his arm, giving him an encouraging smile. "It's alright," he murmured, pressing a kiss to Alfred's temple. "Come on. Let's go in." Having been here before, the author felt perfectly comfortable in knocking and letting themselves in. "Vlad," he called out, coming over to greet the man behind the desk. "You should have said hello at the party. I didn't realize you were going to be there."

Alfred peeked into the office, watching the doctor smile at Arthur as if they were old friends. "You uere quite busy. I did not uant to disturb you." Then the Romanian's red eyes flicked to the doorway. "Ah, Alfred Jones. I had uondered if you uould come." He waved the vampire closer. "Come, come. Let me look at you."

Slowly, Alfred stepped into the room. Both men gave him warm smiles as he came closer, welcoming him in their company. "So, any ill effects since you've been treated?" Dr. Negrescu asked lightly, his red eyes studiously raking Alfred's person.

"N-no," Alfred replied, squaring his shoulders back. Now that his euphoria had dimmed, several inconvenient facts lay on the forefront of his mind. First, that Dr. Negrescu was a _something_. Probably not a vampire, but not what Ivan was either. Second, that he managed to force Alfred's body to do his bidding. Third, that he somehow knew Alfred's _name_, although neither he nor Arthur ever told him. Fourth... Those red eyes were just _creepy._

"May I?" Dr. Negrescu asked, pulling out a stethoscope.

_Nice of him to ask now._ "Sure," Alfred replied, unsure of how to refuse in front of Arthur. He let the Romanian go through the motions of a normal check up. Maybe it was a normal check up. He had no idea. He'd never seen a modern doctor before. What mattered was his heart kept on beating. It was the thing that kept his reanimated body going. "All good?"

"All good," Dr. Negrescu smiled at him. "It seems you are perfectly healthy, Alfred Jones." He turned his attention to them both. "I suggest zat he come back for routine check ups. Perhaps we can start on a monfly basis, fen see uere ue go from fere. Fair?"

"I think that's fair," Arthur answered on Alfred's behalf as he wrapped an arm around the vampire's slender shoulders. "I'll make time and-"

"Ah, fese are rather sensitive check ups," Dr. Negrescu interrupted before Arthur could formulate any future plans. "And tedious. It may be better if Alfred Jones comes alone..."

Arthur's bright eyes shuttered at that, his brow knitting into a frown. His hold on Alfred tightened. A warm flutter went through Alfred at his boyfriend's protectiveness. "I can assure you it's not a problem, if you're worried about scheduling. I work from home. I can make myself available for whatever time is convenient."

Alfred glanced over at the Romanian. Although his expression remained in a friendly neutral, something _flickered_ behind those red eyes. A thread of fear went through the vampire, reminded once again of Dr. Negrescu's less than normal nature. Chewing his lower lip, Alfred squeezed Arthur's forearm. "Arthur, it's okay," he whispered in the author's ear. "I don't mind coming on my own."

"Are you sure?" Arthur asked in just as hushed a voice.

"Yeah, and it's..." Alfred let his cheeks color and his eyes duck shyly away, "it's sort of embarrassing..." He didn't care what he implied. He just didn't want Arthur _there._ If it was just the pair of them, it would keep Arthur safe, as well as give Alfred the chance to get some _answers_ out of the Romanian doctor.

Arthur blushed in response. "Very well. Say no more. I trust you," he said and gave the vampire a quick peck on the cheek. He turned back to Dr. Negrescu. "Vlad, I'll leave Alfred in your hands then. You've more than helped him already, so you will always have my gratitude." He reached into his inner coat sleeve and brought out a nondescript, white envelope. "Here is a small token of my thanks."

Alfred's eyebrows shot up. However, the Romanian took the envelope and glanced inside. "Fis is too much, Arthur," he said, holding the envelope back. "It was my pleasure. After all, I am a doctor."

"And doctors are paid for their services. I must insist," the author replied, refusing to take the envelope back. "After all, you are continuing to see Alfred, are you not? I must compensate you for your time."

Weird. Alfred half expected the Romanian to use his weird power. He looked unhappy enough about this. However, the man only shrugged and placed the envelope inside his desk. "Uell, fank you, Arthur." He turned a smile over to Alfred. "I fink you are alright to leave for now. I uill see you in a month. Enjoy all zat life has to offer you."

"Thanks...?" Alfred said with a raised eyebrow. They quickly made their goodbyes and soon the pair of them were striding down the steps of the university building. "Hey Arthur, what was in the envelope?" he asked suddenly.

"Twenty thousand dollars," Arthur replied lightly, as though it were spare change.

Alfred froze in his tracks. "What?!" he cried in horror. "Arthur, what were you thinking?!"

The Brit halted on the bottom step and turned back to face the vampire with a positively _evil_ smile. It sent a faint tremble down Alfred's spine. "Much as I do trust him, did you really think I would leave you defenseless in another person's hands?" Arthur asked coolly. "Especially when you're getting your medical attention in such a shady manner? It's a check. Now there's a paper trail."

Something akin to awe bloomed in Alfred's chest. He grinned at his boyfriend and hopped down the rest of the way to the bottom step, wrapping his arm around the Brit's. "Remind me never to get on your bad side," he laughed. "Now, do you want to go out to eat?"

"Whoa, _hold it,_" Arthur cried out in mock-indignation as they headed back to the station. "Didn't I drop enough money for you today?"

~o~

A month flew by in the blink of an eye. Arthur acclimated back to the day-schedule easily and he was working on getting Alfred suited to those hours as well. There was more than enough to keep Alfred's attention as they explored the city anew, when it was bright and vibrant. They went on picnics in Central Park, went boating in Montauk, drank coffee in sidewalk cafes, went to the zoo, attended outdoor concerts, and so much more. It seemed like Arthur wanted to cram as many daytime experiences into Alfred as quickly as he possibly could.

Alfred was nearly overwhelmed every day in the best possible way. All the sights, the smells, the _food_. God, the food was _to die for._ He wasn't just experiencing the city in the daylight, but he was experiencing it reborn. Humans just felt _so much more_ about _everything._ It almost made him cry to think about everything he'd missed in all his centuries. He never wanted to think about that dark time ever again.

However, suddenly it was time for his first "check-up." Alfred came back to Columbia, his stomach churning with nerves. He stood for a long moment outside of Dr. Negrescu's door, wondering if he was going to be able to walk out of there again. Even with the insurance that Arthur's money provided, Alfred didn't think it would cause the Romanian all that much trouble to give the vampire a world of hurt.

His eyes went down to the smooth black bracelet around his wrist. He still couldn't figure out what the doctor's end game could possibly be. Unless he was really genuine about not wanting Alfred to burn to a crisp. Which _would _be nice of him. Alfred supposed that was a possibility. He just didn't know anything about the guy.

_Arthur knows nothing about you_, he reminded himself. _Doesn't stop him from loving you. _Still, lately he'd been thinking of staging an accident for his Estonian-bound identity. It was getting too complicated keeping it up and he felt guilty for deceiving Arthur like that. The only thing that stopped him was knowing he'd feel even guiltier for breaking Arthur's heart_._

_This isn't the time,_ he sighed, knowing he was stalling. He probably looked like a bit of an idiot standing outside in the hall like this.

The door suddenly swung open, revealing the Romanian. "Yes, you look like an idiot," he said amiably, then waved the vampire to enter. "Now come in. You've been quite distracting." Alfred paled, but followed him in and closed the door behind him.

"Guess that answers the question about the mind-reading," Alfred muttered. He stood at the door, folding his arms over his chest. "So, what exactly are you and why do you want to help me?" Dr. Negrescu ignored him, heading over to his instruments by his desk. "Dr. Negrescu, did you hear me?"

"Alfred Jones, do call me Vlad. Ze title is awkuard," the Romanian replied lightly. "Now sit and hold out your hand."

Alfred had no intention of doing so. However, he found his body moving once again of its own accord. He planted into a chair, his bangled hand held out to the doctor's mercy. Dr. Negrescu casually tugged on the cords of the blinds and the vampire suddenly found himself basking in the light of the setting sun.

"Now, Alfred Jones," the Romanian said lightly, returning to his side. "Let me be perfectly clear. I hold no hostility against you and I uish you no harm. However," His fingers gently brushed over the bracelet, playing with the clasp, "if you question me..."

The vampire stopped breathing, feeling the heat of the sun beginning to sting his flesh. "No... no, wait..." he begged, trying to squirm his way back out of the light. His blue eyes snapped up to the Romanian's face, dread pooling in him like poison.

The doctor smiled amiably at him, his finger still poised dangerously close to freeing the black band from his wrist. "Fis is our arrangement, Alfred Jones. You come here every month so I can monitor you. You do not ask questions. If not, I take away ze bracelet. And if you do not come I uill find you. Are ue understood?"

Alfred panted for breath, his eyes fixed on the delicate silver clasp that was keeping him from burning into a cinder. Even as he felt sheer terror making his heart feel like it would beat out of his chest, he demanded, "You swear that Arthur won't get hurt?"

The Romanian seemed to consider for a long moment whether or not he would punish Alfred for the question, much less answer it. However, after a heart-stopping minute, he put the clasp back and then gave the vampire a smile. "Oh Alfred Jones. I _like _Arthur. I have no reason to see him get hurt, you can rest assured. Now sit up and let me examine you."

This didn't come as a compulsion this time. It didn't need to. Alfred tugged off his shirt and let the doctor look him over, the man occasionally jotting little notes down in a green leather-bound book. The vampire wondered if he was some sort of experiment. If Dr. Negrescu, _Vlad_, just needed him as a guinea pig.

Vlad didn't enlighten him. He merely gestured for Alfred to put his shirt back on. "Now you may go," he said, waving for the vampire to leave. "See you next month."

Alfred fled from there like a bat out of hell.

When he got back home, he superglued the bracelet shut.

~o~

Arthur decided that the very best thing from Alfred's change was waking up in bed with him in the morning. His boyfriend couldn't quite seem to shake the habit of sleeping during the day and was always the last to awaken. It gave Arthur plenty of time to wake Alfred up for him.

Ignoring the soft snores, though they were _adorable_, his eyes cast their gaze over the luminescent skin that was finally beginning to darken with sunlight. He pressed a line of kisses from the nape of the slim neck, weaving a trail along the boy's shoulder blades, to the small of his back. Alfred groaned softly, his body slightly shifting under the attention.

"Not yet..." Arthur purred, running his fingers through the soft blond hair. He nipped Alfred's ear, sucking on his earlobe. Now Alfred was definitely squirming, whining in his sleep. He slid his hand down between the boy's legs. The member responded to his fingers immediately, coaxed into stiffening.

Alfred awoke with a sharp intake of breath. The sun disoriented him, taking him a second longer to realize what the author was doing. "Umf, Arthur... What the _hell_..." he whined, gasping when Arthur gave him a squeeze. "Goddammit, Arthur. You're freaking _evil_."

The Brit smirked. "Don't worry, love. I'll work this timidness out of you soon enough," he promised, as Alfred squirmed underneath his fingers. "All it takes is a little practice."

"Are you kidding-," Alfred snapped at him. He gasped sharply, his entire body arching up. "Oh my God..." he hissed, his cheeks flushed in pleasure, "Fucking- Goddammit~! Will you get done already! Stop teasing me~!"

"As you wish," Arthur replied lightly, jerking his hand faster to finish the boy off. With a faint cry, Alfred came in his hand, his entire body tensing before he fell bonelessly back into the bed. Arthur casually wiped his hand off with a tissue and then slipped up to spoon against Alfred's back. "Admit it, you enjoyed that didn't you..." he purred in smug satisfaction.

"You're evil," Alfred muttered darkly against his pillow. "_EVIL_."

~o~

The vampire peeked over the edge of the bed like a lion on the prowl, grinning viciously as he looked at Arthur's prone, sleeping form basking in the morning light. He readied himself, rolling his shoulders as he crouched down onto the floor. He licked his lips, his eyes fixated on his prey.

Then his body sprung into action, pouncing onto the author and shocking him out of his sleep. "Arthur! Beach! I want to go to the beach!" he called out cheerfully, his voice booming into Arthur's ear.

A stream of free flowing curses were quick to follow, as well as rough-housing, torn sheets, and maybe a few headlocks.

The pair of them ended up at the beach anyway.

~o~

Alfred had no idea why he was so _hungry_ all the time. Still, he didn't see all that much reason to deprive himself, trying everything and anything under the sun. After all, he was catching up on the hundreds of years worth of meals he missed. Arthur joked(?) that Alfred was going to eat them out of house and home, but he spoiled Alfred anyway by getting him anything that he wanted.

It didn't take him long to figure out that hamburgers were his _favorite thing ever._

"What on earth are you doing?" Arthur asked incredulously as he came into the kitchen at lunchtime. The vampire (though could he really call himself that anymore?) answered with a food-stuffed mouth that made the author wrinkle his nose in disgust. "_Swallow._ Then talk," he said, going to the stove to make himself some tea.

Alfred did, then gestured to the variety of different burgers that were spread out over the kitchen table. They ranged from McDonald's, to Burger King, Jack in the Box, Shake Shack, White Castle and various others the Brit clearly didn't recognize. "I'm trying them all out to see which one I like best." He took another bite of his Big Mac. "I fink I 'ike 'is one beft," he said, chewing around another bite.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "...Alfred, did Vlad mention if weight gain was one of the side effects of your treatment?"

The vampire swallowed his mouthful down. "No." He paused. "...Why?"

Arthur glanced down at the little muffintop that Alfred was beginning to develop and took a sip of tea. "No reason~" he said lightly, smirking as Alfred self-consciously wrapped an arm around his waist. He sidled past and patted Alfred on the shoulder. "You enjoy your lunch, dear boy. I need to get back to work." He hummed a little diddy to himself as he left that sounded suspiciously like the oompa-loompa song.

Alfred looked to his Big Mac, then to his waist. Okay, _maybe_ he could lay off the burgers.

His stomach growled hungrily.

...Or gym. Maybe gym would work.

~o~

The sound of Alfred's pealing laughter brought the author's eyes up from his laptop. His lips quirked into a smile as he saw Alfred and Antonio speaking animatedly to one another on top of the sunlit picnic blanket. It turned out that Alfred spoke Spanish. Who knew?

It was another one of their excursions to Central Park, since it was such a bright and sunny day. Arthur was falling behind on his writing, so he'd brought his laptop along to work, trusting that Antonio would keep Alfredo-_Alfred_ entertained. The pair of them hit it off surprisingly well. Then again, it was difficult not to get along with Antonio.

Arthur took a mental break, allowing himself to admire the change that had come over his boyfriend. He was significantly tanner for one, his skin taking on a warm glow especially when he was out basking in the sun. He tanned even better than Arthur, who had to start taking to applying sunscreen and staying in the shade to keep from turning lobster red.

The irony was not lost on the author.

More importantly, Alfred looked healthier, more like his own age. He was no longer the emaciated little ghost that crept around in the basement. Now he'd put on some much needed weight ...and then some. Honestly, Arthur didn't care about that, much as he enjoyed teasing his sweet boy for it. His skin was warm and clear, his hair now had a soft sheen, and his eyes...

Arthur smiled. Most importantly, Alfred was happy. His eyes were bright. His smiles came easy and his laughter just as much. No one would ever think that the bubbly, cheerful and _loud _boy had ever been shy or stammering. Once he was put out into the sun, he thrived like a field of wildflowers in the heat of summer.

Sensing the author's eyes on him, Alfred turned and waved to him. "¡Arturo! ¿Quieren un helado?" At Arthur's blank expression, the boy corrected himself. "Ice cream! Do you want some?"

The Brit waved a dismissive hand. "No, thank you. You go on and enjoy it."

Alfred promptly did so, jumping up from the blanket and dashing off barefoot through the grass to the ice cream vendor. Left alone, Antonio picked himself up and strode over to sit beside the author underneath the shade of the tall tree. "So~" he said, his voice teasing, "¿Dis is w_h_ho finally makes de great rogue Arturo Kirkland mend _h_hees waild ways?" The Brit reddened, about to protest when Antonio cut him off. "Ah, I deed not say it was a bad thing. It is just surprising _h_how love can change a man. It is wonderful..."

There was something strangely wistful in that tone of voice... Arthur raised an eyebrow. "And you have your eye on someone...?" he hazarded a guess. Antonio let out a depressed sigh. "...Or not?"

Another heavy sigh. "Oh, si. But it is taking sooo looong for _h_heem to realize that _h_he is in love with me..." Arthur was ready to sigh himself and made himself ready to listen to the Spaniard's dramatic lamentations.

~o~

The ice cream man had limited Alfred to a max of three scoops, which gave the vampire a damned hard time trying to figure out what exactly he wanted to get. Three customers passed and Alfred was still stuck deciding between peanut butter chocolate and pistachio.

"Arufredo-san?" a familiar voice called, making Alfred freeze faster than dry ice. He whipped around and to his horror found his old tenant, Honda Kiku, staring at him in wonder. The shorter Japanese man had gotten a little bit older since they last saw each other, though his face still had that ageless quality to it. The vampire's throat went dry. That was _nothing_ compared to him.

"H-hi Kiku," Alfred said with a weak smile and a wave. "Wow, I didn't expect to see you here. Small world, huh?" Kiku was still staring at him. All Alfred could do was continue to babble out of nervousness. "Ah- I'm sorry I haven't been online as often. Things- ah, a lot of things came up. We should really do some more co-op games soon!"

Finally, the quiet Asian spoke up. "You're... outside," he said in what Alfred thought was astonishment.

The vampire blinked. Then he grinned. Of _course_ that would be the thing Kiku noticed. He'd forgotten about that. Even though he'd only had access to the sun for a couple months now, his dark days seemed like a hazy nightmare. "Oh right! Duh," he said with a laugh. "Guess I didn't tell you about that. Look, I'm cured!" He held his bare arms out, showing off his tanned skin. "It's awesome!"

Kiku stared for a couple more seconds, looking Alfred up and down. "Hai... zat... zat is very arusome." He gave the vampire a tentative smile. "You rook very different, Arufredo-san. I arumost didn't recognize you. You rook good," Kiku added kindly, smiling wider when Alfred looked himself over in confusion.

"Um, thanks," the vampire replied, his smile turning shy at the compliment. He was slowly getting used to them. Even if he didn't think he looked all that different.

His friend gave him another considering look. "You should invite me to your next baathday paaty. How orudo are you now? Twenty-fivu? Twenty-six? You carry your age weru..."

A sharp chill ran down Alfred's spine. Apparently, he didn't change _that_ much. "Ahahaha! Oh Kiku!" he said with a boisterous laugh to cover his nervousness, slapping his friend on the back. "You're such a flatterer!" Then he leaned in and stage-whispered into Kiku's ear. "Actually, if you could kinda keep that underwraps, I'd appreciate it. I don't know if you've heard, but I have a sugar daddy now. Soo_... kinda want to keep him in the dark_," he hissed, giving a significant nod in Arthur's direction.

Kiku glanced in that direction and his eyes went wide. "Aasaa Kaakurando!" he gasped. It took Alfred a second to realize he meant _"Arthur Kirkland_." Any thoughts on Alfred's looks were clearly forgotten as his friend pulled out a large camera from his messenger bag and hugged it shakily to his chest. "A-ano~ c-could I meet him?" he asked nervously, glancing pleadingly up at Alfred.

Oh boy. "Sure! Why not? I'm sure he wouldn't mind," Alfred replied cheerfully.

It was easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.

~o~

It was a morning like any other. The vampire awoke curled beside his lover in their shared bed, the room glowing with the morning sunlight. Alfred smiled, looking over Arthur's sleeping face. Warmth blossomed in his chest as he thought about how lucky he was to have this. To think, a year ago he had pretty much resigned himself to living forever alone in the dark. Now he had actual friends, a life outside, experiences he only dreamed of.

Most importantly, he had Arthur. He still didn't know how all this was supposed to work out. However, a future with Arthur was at least _possible_ with the help of a single little bracelet.

His stomach growled, demanding attention. Sighing, Alfred leaned over to kiss Arthur on the cheek and went to make breakfast for both of them. He stepped out of bed and out into the light. Only for pain to sear all along his leg and make him scream.

Arthur jolted out of sleep instantly, his eyes wildly looking around to find Alfred curled up in bed and hiding away from the light. "Alfred. Alfred, love, what happened?!" he demanded, crawling over to his lover.

Shaking with pain, Alfred clutched tightly to his shins. They were both bright blistering red. Not as bad as his dark time, but it wasn't good. The author swore under his breath and ran over to the windows to snap the blinds shut. "Alfred, stay there," he said and ran downstairs to get the burn kit. When he got back up, he opened a jar of salve and applied the cool gel to the vampire's legs. It helped a little, even though it felt as though the burn had leeched all the way to Alfred's bones.

"We need to see Vlad," Arthur murmured, glancing briefly up at Alfred before he continued his work. "Maybe the treatment's wearing off. He will... He will know what to do. I'll give him a call. We'll see him tonight." He cupped the vampire's face and pressed a hard kiss to Alfred's lips. Then he went to find his phone.

Though the pain was awful, worse was the dread that was welling up in the vampire. It was nauseating and terrifying, as though his stomach was slowly filling up with engine oil that would inevitably kill him. That expression was mirrored in Arthur's own eyes, as he looked to his lover while he spoke in urgent whispers over the phone.

Night couldn't come fast enough. The pair of them arrived at the professor's office in record time, where Vlad was waiting. It was the first time that Alfred saw the Romanian wearing an expression of concern, though he did wonder if it was purely for Arthur's benefit. They cut to the chase.

"Vlad, your treatment seems to be deteriorating," Arthur said and gestured to the bandages wrapped around Alfred's shins. "Is there anything that you can do? Could you do another dose of that, what did you call it, Panhetamine?"

"It is possible," Vlad allowed. "However, I need to take a closer look at him. Arthur uould you mind leaving the office?" The author looked over to Alfred, deferring to him. The vampire nodded shortly, even if he did want Arthur there. He wanted Arthur to _know._ He wished that he could tell Arthur _everything_.

But it was too late.

Once Arthur was safely outside, the Romanian turned to his patient. "Show me your hand," he ordered curtly, all sympathy gone. Right, so the concern was fake after all. Honestly, Alfred didn't care as long as the doctor put things right. He sat down in his chair and held the bracelet out for Vlad to inspect.

The Romanian slid his fingers over the sleek black band, tsking in disapproval when he saw Alfred's evidence of tampering in the form of superglue. However, he didn't say a word as he inspected the bracelet. "I uill need to heighten ze effects," he told the vampire. He went over to his desk and brought out a crimson rod from his top drawer.

The sight of it triggered something, something dark, something primal. It whispered to him in words that humans couldn't understand. It pulsed, beating like a heart, the red oozing down the Romanian's fingers. Alfred trembled, his cat-slit eyes fixed on the glowing red rod.

"What will that do?" he demanded, his words coming out in a hiss. He leaned forward, drawn to the strange artifact.

"No questions," Vlad replied, his own eyes seeming to pulse with the same red glow as the rod. It seemed strange for him to suddenly reinstitute their agreement after so many casual check-ups. But Alfred wanted that _rod._ "Uill you let me fix it or not?"

"Yes," the vampire blurted out quickly. He strained his clawed fingers. "Give it to me."

Vlad slapped his hand. "Behave," he muttered, touching the pulsing rod to the black band. The red bled into it along lines that were not visible to the naked eye. The bracelet heated, turning from cool stone to liquid fire. Alfred let out a faint whimper as he felt the heat flood through him. Not as bad as the first time. But _bad_.

The wave of heat passed. Alfred lay slumped uncomfortably in his seat, unable to keep himself up. Slowly, he pushed himself up, feeling his sweaty clothes drag along his clammy skin in the process. The rod disappeared off somewhere. Alfred was glad for it. He didn't care for how that evil thing made him feel. "Are we done?" he hissed, feeling his entire body aching as though he'd just been through a triathlon.

Vlad looked him over and then brought a small flashlight out of his desk. "Fis is a UV light," he told the vampire. "If it uorks, fen ue shall see..." _And if it doesn't..._ the words hung silently in the air.

Swallowing down a wave of nausea, Alfred nodded. Vlad returned the gesture and then snapped the flashlight on over the vampire's skin, before Alfred had a chance to prepare himself. Nonetheless, he held his breath even when he didn't feel any sting from the little light.

"It uorked," Vlad assured him, placing the light on his desk and taking out that damned green notebook. "You may leave."

Unsettled by the complete abruptness and lack of answers, Alfred pushed himself up and quickly went to the door, where Arthur was waiting. When he shut the door behind him, he finally felt like he could breathe.

Arthur reached to him and Alfred let himself find solace in his lover's arms. "Is everything alright?" the Brit asked softly, brushing his fingers through Alfred's sweaty hair. The vampire answered with a faint nod. "Okay..." Arthur breathed, the relief palpable in his voice. "Let's get you back home, alright, love?" He angled their bodies towards the stairs to the lobby, though he didn't ever lessen his hold on his lover.

Alfred never felt so cared for. "Love you..." he murmured softly, his eyes tearing.

"I love you too, Alfred," Arthur whispered, pressing a warm kiss to his brow. "And I will always be here for you. I swear it..."


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

~o~

_Alfred, this may be a little awkward, but I need some advice._

_Oh hey, Art! Long time no talk. Wassup?_

_You were married once, correct?_

_Ah... that's a little complicated. Let's just say yes. Why?_

_Your wife, was she very pretty?_

_Gorgeous. Smart, funny, beautiful eyes. Again, why?_

_I want to know how to keep people from looking at your son._

_OH! Ok, jeez. I thought you were going to propose or something._

_No. Not yet._

_Anyway, about the looks._

_Not yet?! What does that mean?!_

_Also, you're right. This is super awkward._

_Clearly, this was a mistake._

_And what looks?_

_Will you just wait until I'm done typing!?_

~o~

Arthur couldn't get used to Alfred's constantly changing body. First, he was sure that Alfred would turn into a porker with his insatiable appetite. However, since that trip to Vlad's the boy seemed to reverse direction. His body thickened in different ways, gaining muscle along his arms and legs, his torso gaining definition, his shoulders growing more broad. It was just a little unnerving to suddenly find himself bedding someone who could easily pass as a male model (and was getting just as cocky to boot). The barmy thing was that Alfred _still _ate like a pig. It was _maddening_.

"Alfred, please tell me you haven't been taking steroids," the author spoke, his voice breaking into a moan as Alfred pressed him down into the mattress.

"Jeez, Arthur, you're never gonna let that drug thing go, are you?" Alfred griped.

A hiss escaped Arthur when he felt his chest suddenly exposed to cool air as Alfred sent his buttons scattering. "That was my favourite-!" Alfred shut him up with a hard kiss, silencing any more protest. The writer's slender fingers slid over his partner's waist, squeezing the pervasive bit of fluff that still clung to Alfred's frame. He grinned against Alfred's lips as the boy let out a faint whine of complaint. "Revenge," he purred.

"_Meanie_," Alfred pouted, his strong hands running up and behind Arthur's sides, wrenching the Brit up closer against him.

"Someone needs to take you down a peg," Arthur hummed, nipping the skin along his lover's jaw. "The way everyone looks at you, your big head will explode." His own motions grew rougher, more possessive, remembering with tinted green memory how his sweet boy was suddenly getting so many lecherous looks.

"A jealous meanie, too," Alfred added with a knowing glint to his eye. He smiled fondly and leaned down to press a soft, chaste kiss to Arthur's lips. His blue eyes glowed with bright affection as he gently stroked Arthur's cheek. "You don't ever need to be jealous..." he spoke softly. "I promise..."

"I know..." Arthur murmured in response. Then he spun Alfred up off of him, tossing him back into the mattress as he straddled the boy's hips. Alfred's eyes widened and just then he looked so much like the little landlord he'd come to adore. His lips pulled into a sharp smile. "But don't begrudge me marking my territory..."

~o~

It was about three in the afternoon when the house phone shrilled for attention.

"Alfred, you get it!" Arthur hollered down the attic stairs. His muse couldn't be interrupted right now as he was in the middle of pounding out a grisly, suspenseful scene between Anton and Doctor Yury Vinchenkov. (He would always be Doktor Vlad in Arthur's mind.)

His boyfriend made some complaining noise, but soon the phone stopped ringing and disturbing Arthur's peace. However, after a moment, he could hear Alfred's footsteps pounding up the stairs instead. "Arthur!" Alfred cried out, holding out the phone. His face was pale, full of trepidation. "It's the police. They want to talk to you."

A dark feeling of dread pooled in Arthur's stomach at the look in his lover's eye. "Give it to me," he said and was handed the phone. "Hello?"

*_Good afternoon. Is this Arthur Kirkland?_*

"Speaking," Arthur replied, the dread now crawling over his shoulders underneath his skin.

*_Sir, I regret to inform you that we believe that Francis Bonnefoy was found dead in his apartment this morning._*

Those words sucked all the air right out of Arthur's lungs. A sort of numb denial settled over his mind. This was something straight out of his novels. He was imagining this. This wasn't real. It couldn't be real.

The voice continued. *_We would appreciate it if you could come down to the station to look at the body. We're in the 5th Precinct. If you could come today, the better._*

"Right..." Arthur spoke softly. "I'll be there..." He shut off the phone and stared at his screen. The victims of the grisly shooting seemed to stare back at him in accusation, blaming him for having such a sick mind.

"Arthur...?" Alfred called out, his voice shaking the author back to reality. "Arthur, what was that about?"

"I need to go," the author replied, pushing himself back from the desk. He left the house without another word, even to his lover.

Arthur arrived at the police station an hour later. The place was not unlike a scene out of one of his books, uniforms bustling two and fro while phones rang off the hook, officers complaining about the coffee machine as they worked off of ancient computers. He'd been taken in by the bobbys back home more than once for drunk and disorderly conduct. (And maybe a few instances of joyriding. But how else could he learn to drive without a car?)

Francis had been his partner in crime on more than one occasion...

Swallowing hard, he came up to the desk officer and was told to wait for the captain to come get him. There was a hard plastic chair in the hall, so he sat down and tried his best not to throw up. This all had to be a misunderstanding. Surely, Francis would not have put himself into any danger. The man was far too much of a priss. It was a mistake.

The minutes ticked by like hours, as the author was stuck with nothing but his own whirling thoughts. When someone stood in front of him, he was jolted out of them like an electric shock. "Mr. Arthur Kirkland?" A hand stuck out in front of his face. "Thank you for coming in. We appreciate you taking the time."

"Of course," Arthur replied, his own voice sounding strange in his throat. "H-have you contacted Francis' family yet?"

"Not yet," the Captain replied. He was a tall man with sharp Germanic features, blond hair slicked back with gel, making his steel blue eyes the center focus of his face. "We wanted you to do an initial identify the body before we contacted them in France. No use in having them fly out for no reason." He gestured over towards a hallway. "Please come this way."

A moment later, he was staring at the veiled body behind a glass plane. A swallow and a nod, then the sheet was pulled up and away. Immediately, the author felt as though the ground was kicked out from underneath his feet.

The face may have been sickly gray and the eyes sunken, but those cheekbones, that nose, that chin...

"It's him," Arthur whispered. "That's Francis Bonnefoy." The sheet immediately went back over the corpse's, Francis', face. After that, Arthur was only dimly aware that he was being led away and brought over to one of the private rooms. Something warm was placed in his hand. Coffee.

He _hated_ coffee. Stupid thing to think when his friend was dead. He should be doing something. Throwing a fit. Crying. _Something._ Not being picky over a stupid drink. Yet somehow this little slight made him irrationally angry. He tossed it into the garbage, ignoring the surprised looks from the officers around him. However, they didn't say a word as they went straight into questioning him.

How well did you know Francis Bonnefoy? _We were friends since boarding school._

Were you two ever involved? _ Yes, casually before I met my boyfriend._

Do you know who Francis Bonnefoy might have been seeing? _I do not. He sees many people._

Do you need a minute? We can do this later. _No, I'm fine._

Where were you the night before last? _At home._

Can anyone verify that? _My boyfriend._

When was the last time you saw Francis Bonnefoy? _Two weeks ago at a party. He was hanging onto some girl. Michelle, I think her name was._

Did you ever sleep with Francis while involved with your boyfriend?

"Now see here!" Arthur finally snapped, anger burning him up like a match to gunpowder. "I don't care for what you're implying! I was not cheating on my boyfriend and I did not have anything to do with my friend's murder! Now tell me exactly how he died!"

"I'm sorry sir, but this is an ongoing investigation," the Captain replied calmly.

"Oh bollocks, you know any reporter with a modicum of talent will leak the details in the next paper!" Arthur snapped. "And believe me, you do not want _me_ making a fuss to the reporters."

The Captain's jaw clenched tightly. Yet he somehow saw the light as he replied tersely, "Francis Bonnefoy was found this morning mauled in his apartment. We don't know what did it. The coroner is pointing to some sort of wild animal. Now, sir, that is _all_ that I will be telling you. I suggest that you stay in the area while the investigation is ongoing."

Arthur had the feeling that meant _he_ was a suspect, which was absolutely ludicrous. "Fine," he replied, holding his chin up high. "I'm not going anywhere. I want Francis' killer to be found, in case that ever came into question."

The Captain studied him for a long moment and then gave the author a faint nod. "Of course," he replied, then reached into his pocket to hand the author his card. "Should you come up with anything else, here's my line. Give me a call anytime."

"Thank you," Arthur replied, glancing only briefly at the name CAPTAIN D. LUDWIG. He didn't say any more before turning on his heel and departing before he did something he regretted. He couldn't rightly remember how he got home, his mind whirling with shock and anger. He slammed the door on the way back into the house, immediately drawing Alfred's attention from down below in the basement.

"Arthur? Babe, what's wrong?" Alfred called up, worry etched all over his face as he came into the living room. "What did the police want?"

His lover's concern was almost too much to bear. It _was_ too much to bear. Some desperate, choked noise escaped Arthur's throat, his eyes growing hot. The reality finally set in, pushing past the surrealism of hours past. "Francis..." he hiccuped, shaking his head as he trembled. "He's..."

Sensing what was wrong, Alfred came to him immediately and brought him over to the couch. He didn't push as he listened to Arthur's mangled sobs, his arms wrapped protectively around him. "I'm sorry..." he whispered into Arthur's hair long until the author felt dizzy with lack of sleep. "I'm so sorry..."

~o~

When the police next called, Alfred wouldn't let them go anywhere near Arthur.

Arthur woke up from his afternoon nap to nurse his morning headache, only to hear his lover screaming into the phone. "You assholes stay away from him! He didn't kill his own best friend, you insane shits! You don't have anything on him and he doesn't have to answer any of your questions!" he heard Alfred roar from the kitchen. "You want to get anymore out of him, you talk to his lawyer!" With that, the wall damn near cracked when Alfred slammed the phone back on its handle.

Arthur stared wide-eyed at Alfred when the other man stalked back into the living room. "A-Alfred, what on earth was that about?" he demanded as he pushed himself up to a sit.

Alfred snapped his gaze over to him and a sharp chill crawled down Arthur's spine when he saw the inhuman anger painted across the boy's features. However, they quickly smoothed out upon settling on the author, turning somewhat sheepish. "Sorry," he murmured, settling down on the couch to curl up next to his lover. "Um... Arthur, you have a lawyer right...?"

"Yes~" Arthur replied kindly, relaxing when he saw Alfred return to himself. "That was a good call. I will call him soon to let him know what's happening." Smiling, he pressed a kiss to his lover's brow. "My hero..."

The blushing smile that spread over Alfred's face was most gratifying.

~o~

Dusk. Strange smells and noises began to rise from the ground. Neon lights buzzed and flickered overhead, fighting with the dying orange glow. The cries of feral dogs howled through the canyons of concrete, stone and glass, chilling the blood of any lonely passersby.

"A-A-A-Arthur w-what was that?" Alfred stuttered, his fearful eyes whipping around to look at their darkening surroundings.

A sigh. "Just dogs, love," his boyfriend replied, holding Alfred's hand on way the back from the movies. A horror movie. It sounded like a great idea at the time. Arthur's head hadn't been in a good place since finding out about Francis, so Alfred thought that taking him out might do the trick.

However, now with his paranoia of the dark only heightened, the vampire trembled like a leaf as his eyes followed the red sun setting on the horizon. Something cold creeped up his neck, the inescapable feeling that they were being followed unable to leave him. He squeezed Arthur's hand harder, making the human wince. "_Alfred_," Arthur scolded sharply, "I cannot hold your hand if you break my fingers! Honestly, I haven't the foggiest idea why you insisted on going to see that film!"

Sheepish, Alfred eased his grip. "Sorry..." he mumbled, though his eyes still darted nervously about them. When he heard glass crash, he seized up again. "A-Arthur, I think that came from close by!"

"Probably a drunk." Nonetheless, Arthur did take a look around them as well, his brow knitting into a frown. He nodded over to a thin alleyway. "Let's cut through there. We'll get to the station more quickly.

"Are you nuts?!" Alfred gasped in a dramatic stage-whisper. "Dude, that's like the number one rule of any horror movie! Don't go into any alleyways!"

"I thought it was don't go into any haunted buildings," the author replied, heading in that direction anyway despite Alfred's whine of protest. "Besides, we're not in a horror movie."

"Coulda fooled me," the vampire muttered darkly under his breath. He stepped quickly after Arthur, ready to defend them from any would-be threats. The sky darkened further as they strode through the shadowed alleyway, huddling close together. Despite his bravado, Alfred could hear Arthur's heart quicken just a beat. He was nervous too.

Something crunched behind them, like footsteps. Both of them whirled back, but found nothing in the shadows. Arthur's heart was beating much faster now. Alfred would have crowed about being right, but his own nerves were hammering. "Quickly now," Arthur said softly and the pair of them rushed towards the exit.

A hulking mass suddenly appeared in front of them, the black silhouette blocking their path. Alfred had a head start and crashed headfirst, falling back onto his ass. He scrabbled up to his feet, defenses rising as his eyes and teeth grew sharp, holding an arm to keep Arthur behind him. "Stop _now!_" he hissed at the silhouette.

The dark mass, unaffected by the crash, slowly stepped forward. A bit of pink fluttered into the light.

Immediately, Alfred's sharp features fell away as he recognized their would-be assailant. "Jesus fucking Christ," he swore, relaxing as he folded his arms over his chest. He glanced over his shoulder at his boyfriend. "It's only Ivan."

Arthur was still white, his eyes staring past the vampire. "Alfred!"

Alfred whipped around, only to narrowly miss being slammed in the face with a pipe. He jumped back, panting sharply as he stared at the Russian. The man's eyes were like ice, staring at him with an anger that the vampire had never seen before. His rusted pipe, no- faucet, gripped tightly in his huge hand. He lunged forward, slashing the space Alfred occupied with his weapon.

Another narrow miss. "Ivan... Ivan, what the hell!" Alfred cried out, scrabbling to find something to defend himself. Were he by himself, he would vamp in a flash. Even then, he didn't even know if it was _enough_. He managed to find a trash can lid, using it as a shield to deflect the Russian's blows. It crumpled as if it were nothing, metal squealing as the pipe tore through it like paper. The pipe connected with his forehead, pain blooming and bursting as though his brain had dislodged. Alfred fell to the ground, managing to soften the fall with his arm. He scarcely had a chance to recover, when a foot crunched on top of his bangled arm.

"_So, you zink you valk in sun?_" Ivan spoke softly, twisting his foot on top of Alfred's arm to make the vampire cry out in pain. "_You vill take this evil zing off. Now._" Alfred hissed at him, his eyes growing sharp as his natural defenses rose up again. "Little _fool_..." the Russian spat, reaching down towards the bracelet.

"Get off him!"

Ivan looked up, his fingers inches away from the bracelet. Alfred craned his neck back, to see Arthur holding out something in both hands. The Russian smirked at him. "Silly, silly child..." he chuckled, pulling himself up to a stand.

Alfred knew that if Ivan got back up, Arthur was _done for._ He screamed in fury, wrenching the pink scarf hanging loosely from Ivan's neck and pulled with all his strength. Ivan gasped, turning purple as the vampire choked him with his own scarf.

Two shots rang out.

Alfred cried out as Ivan's huge body suddenly collapsed on top of him. The smell of fresh blood spiked the air. It smelled _wrong. _The vampire gasped for breath as the smell suffocated him like toxic fumes. The world swam in and out of his vision and he was only vaguely aware that Ivan's body was pulled off of him. Arthur tugged him out the rest of the way, wrapping his shivering arms tightly around Alfred's body. "A-Alfred. Alfred, get up. Are you alright?"

"Ngh..." the vampire moaned, trying to get his lungs back in order. He looked blearily down at the sidearm on the grungy alley floor. "Where... Why do you have a gun...?" Alfred whispered.

"My friend just died and a crazy Russian mobster has been stalking us for months," Arthur said with a shaky laugh. "Why wouldn't I get a gun?" He grunted softly, pulling Alfred further away from Ivan's prone form. The further Alfred got from it, the easier it was to breathe. "Come on, Alfred. We... we need to..." The Brit looked around the scene, suddenly lost. "Shite, I have no idea what to do..."

"No police," Alfred whispered, pushing himself up onto his elbows.

"What?" Arthur said, his head snapping over to his boyfriend. "Are you joking?! We _have_ to call the police!"

Swallowing thickly, Alfred shook his head. He could _never _get caught up with them. It was too risky. His eyes swept over to Ivan's bleeding body. Trembling, he pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. "Arthur, he's _dead._ You're a famous author. This _can't_ fall on you. Not to mention they think you're connected to Francis! W-we have to leave him. This neighborhood's kind of rough. Nobody will care about him. Th-then we need to dump the gun in the river."

"Yes, I know how to do this!" Arthur hissed back. "I've written about it more times than I can count! I know how to clean a bloody crime scene." Luckily, Alfred was too shaken or else he would have laughed in the author's face. Arthur continued, oblivious, "I _also_ know that this sort of thing always comes out! And why shouldn't it! I was defending you!"

Alfred's heart thundered, his fingers tightly grasping Alfred's arm. No. He couldn't lose Arthur. He couldn't lose this.

"Arthur," the vampire whispered, turning his cat-slit eyes up to meet his lover's. "_Please. Let's just go_," he spoke, heart breaking as he watched Arthur's eyes grow dull and unfocused. "_Don't tell the police. Don't tell anyone. _Please..." He released the author, leaving the damage done.

The Brit slowly blinked, shaking his head, before he came back to himself, or a version of. He cast but one look at the grisly scene. His eyes looked the vampire's bloody clothes up and down. "Stay here," he said, tucking the gun back into his jacket. Alfred sat on the dirty ground as he recovered. After five minutes, he wondered if the Brit would come back. Those instructions were a bit vague.

However, Arthur did return and he brought a change of clothes with him in a generic plastic bag. They smelled like a hundreds of people touched them. Thrift store. "Change into these." Alfred did so and then passed the bloody clothes back to the author. "You didn't bleed, right?" Alfred shook his head, then watched Arthur combed through the scene and Ivan's person like a forensic specialist looking for any sign of their presence. He even took care to dig the bloody bullets out of Ivan's body, causing a fresh wave of nausea as more wrong-smelling blood was spilled.

...Okay, maybe he was a little impressed. Even through the haze of self-loathing.

Everything was wrapped back up into the plastic bag and Arthur bade Alfred follow him. The vampire gave one last glance back to Ivan's still form. Then they fled.


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

~o~

It was rare for Arthur not to awaken with a headache. Every morning, the author would let out a pained moan as his mind throbbed as though he'd been out drinking. The vampire knew that it wasn't the case. Guilt gnawed at him when he saw his lover take pills from his nightstand as soon as his eyes opened. He worried when Arthur took to dosing his morning tea with various alcoholic chasers. He was forgiving when Arthur was irritable and angry _all _the time.

Alfred knew it was his fault. Even if there were perfectly normal reasons for his boyfriend's behavior - from Francis to Ivan - Alfred _knew_ it had to be the geis he put on his own lover. It wasn't meant to linger or to be used repeatedly, causing permanent harm to the human he placed it on. It had to be because Arthur couldn't accept not going to the police. That it had gone against his very nature. Alfred didn't know why Arthur couldn't just _accept_ it. Everything would be better if he just_ gave in. _

Clearly, Arthur wasn't like that. He was too good a person. It made Alfred want to laugh and cry all at once. Never had he felt like the lowest form of scum on the Earth. The bracelet didn't change a damned thing. He was still poison, a bad influence. He was wrong for Arthur. He was _hurting_ him.

Yet ugly, selfish creature that he was, he didn't want to let Arthur go. He _couldn't_.

So he stayed. He stayed even though Arthur awoke in pain. He stayed even though Arthur was drinking at all hours of the day. He stayed even though he could feel his own guilt building up into aggression, pushing away everyone that came close. He stayed even though he could feel himself becoming more and more of a monster every day.

All that mattered was that he stay close to that fragile precious human, heart breaking every time he crept in next to Arthur in bed and fell into fitful slumber, plagued with dreams of blood.

~o~

Something was very wrong with Alfred.

Arthur didn't have to be sober to notice that his lover had changed dramatically ever since Ivan's death. He studied his boyfriend over the rim of his whiskey glass from across the couch. Alfred had become much more closed off, every word, every action laced with barely restrained aggression. Particularly to anyone outside the house. It reminded Arthur of an alpha wolf protecting its territory, which Arthur surmised made him the bitch of the pack.

Whatever. He really didn't give a shit. Alfred took care of him and kept the world at bay. Something that he desperately needed. Everything was all _wrong _and he couldn't make head or tails of anything anymore. Alfred was the only thing that was keeping him from spiraling completely out of control. He couldn't begrudge his lover from going through any shocking behavior changes of his own after what happened. It would be disgustingly hypocritical of him.

What was wrong was Alfred was pushing _him_ away.

The movie droned on. He was too drunk to really follow the storyline anymore. Downing the rest of his glass, Arthur clapped it onto the coffee table and crawled over to the other side of the couch. The boy tensed when Arthur wrapped his arms around his middle, but placed a hand in Arthur's hair to stroke it. It felt nice. He missed this desperately.

"Alfred..." Arthur purred, arching up against his lover. "Will you fuck me?"

Alfred pulled a face. "Arthur, you're drunk," he muttered, his grip tightening around Arthur's choppy locks.

"What's your point?" the author demanded, his hand reaching over for Alfred's groin.

"_Stop_," Alfred hissed, grasping Arthur's wrist tight enough to bruise. This was getting ridiculous. Alfred had refused sex before, but this was the _third_ time this week.

"The fuck is wrong with you!" Arthur snapped, wrenching himself away from the other man. "You ungrateful little shit! I kill someone for you and this is the thanks I get!" He didn't care how sharp his words were, happy to see the shock on Alfred's face. "Yes, I did! I killed him and I'd do it again! So don't make me out to be some broken damsel. I'm the one who saved _you_! You should be thanking me on your bloody hands and knees!"

"Will you _shut up_!" Alfred roared, stunning Arthur out of his rant. Alfred looked just as stunned. Clearly, neither of them of them had expected it. Regret bled into Alfred's expression and he murmured a tiny, "I'm sorry," before he pulled himself off of the couch and fled.

Arthur sat back on his haunches, watching Alfred dash upstairs. Violent, poisonous anger filled him up and with a cry he grabbed his whiskey glass and smashed it into the floor. Glass splashed everywhere into a thousand tiny pieces. Arthur hoped Alfred stepped on them and cut up his own feet. Maybe then he'd get angry. Maybe then he'd stop looking at Arthur like he was a precious china doll, too fragile to touch and to hold.

Pushing himself up from the couch, Arthur trod over to the kitchen to find another bottle of whiskey. However, all the cupboards were bare. His irritation spiking like a flare, Arthur _knew_ that Alfred must have disposed of them. "_Bloody, fucking, conniving..._" he muttered darkly under his breath, spilling the vilest curses at his housemate.

Fine. Whatever. He could get his own.

Trudging over to the coat closet, he yanked one of the jackets out at random. It turned out to be Alfred's. One of his favourites. It was a leather military jacket that his boyfriend had picked up off of eBay, though it was only recently that his shoulders had finally filled it out. Arthur faltered on sight of it. He brushed his fingers gingerly along the black fur collar, remembering how happy Alfred had looked when he wore it for the first time. He was so bright and bubbly then. Not this dark and brooding thing that lumbered around the house. They were both so happy...

His vision turned watery and he clutched the jacket tightly to himself, all his anger at his boyfriend forgotten. Instead, a chasm of aching loss was left in its place. Where had his dear sweet boy gone? When did he lose Alfred?

Was it his fault? Was it because of the drinking? Because of the headaches? Perhaps. However, _Alfred_ had been the one changing first. He was the one who had slowly been turning into something _else_, even before Arthur started using alcohol to salve his ills and loneliness_._ They used to be so close. Now Arthur couldn't even remember the last time they'd stayed up late into the night whispering little sweet nothings to each other in bed. Hell, when was the last time they had ever even stayed up past nine?

Arthur frowned. That... how did he not notice that before? Both of them were out like a light as soon as they hit the bed. It was... bizarre. It brought to mind some other incident he had long since pushed to the back of his mind. Their first coupling. He'd woken up then in much the same way that he had these many mornings past. The same type of headache. The same fog over his memories. The same unsettling feeling that he'd been used.

Was... was Alfred _drugging_ him?

Then something caught Arthur's attention. His frown deepening, he pulled out something from the black fur and held it up out into the light.

A long, blond hair.

Arthur stared at it. A hair. A blond hair that wasn't his. His fingers trembled, a fire roaring to life inside him that filled him up with pure, white rage. "_**ALFRED!**_" he screamed, storming over wood and glass to go up to find the ungrateful, whoring little shit that had betrayed him. After _everything_ that Arthur had done for him, how could he do this? How could he rip his heart out and stomp on it as if it were _nothing?_ He didn't even care that he was leaving bloody footprints, the alcohol numbing any pain that came from walking on glass shards.

Alfred looked up from the bed when Arthur entered, his eyes wide when he saw Arthur burst in like a hurricane. As if he didn't know what he _did._

"You worthless _whore!_" Arthur spat at him, throwing the jacket at the other man's face. "How could you betray me like this?! After everything that I've done for you! You're nothing but a greedy, golddigging little slut! Who are you taking from on the side?! Who is it?!"

Alfred pulled the jacket down out of his face. His eyes locked onto Arthur, expression unreadable. Alfred's pupils contracted, turning as sharp as a cat's. The sight sent a sharp chill down Arthur's skin, freezing the fiery words in his throat. Then the inhuman eyes fell on Arthur's bleeding feet, looking... _hungry._

Arthur stepped back, watching in horror as his lover changed even more. His body seemed to bulk up more, his fingers turning into claws. A fine dark fur spread over his tanned skin. His ears grew pointed and large like a bat's. His jaw shifted forwards into a snout, the teeth inside his maw sharp and pointed as razors. And his eyes...

They were red as blood.

"A-Alfred..." Arthur scarcely breathed, staring hard and wide as his lover transformed into a beast. The huge bat(?) crept forward on its hands, like a tiger on the prowl. Arthur's back hit the wall. He couldn't breathe as the monster cornered him, curling back on its haunches as it prepared to strike. "Alfred, _no,_" Arthur whispered, shaking his head. He didn't know what was happening, but this _thing_ was still his dear, sweet boy somewhere inside there. He _wouldn't_...

The creature let out an inhuman screech, then launched itself forward.

Shrieking, Arthur crouched down to the floor and hid himself away underneath his arms. The sound of glass shattering, then the roar of an injured animal let loose in the air. All Arthur knew was that he hadn't been flayed into pieces as glass rained over him. Panting for breath, his head snapped up and he looked around to find his bedroom windows broken and the beast missing. He looked down and all around him, finding shredded clothes and Alfred's untouched jacket strewn over the floor.

Tears blurred his vision as he crawled over it, gasping so hard for breath that he was hyperventilating. He clutched it desperately to his person, fingers clawing into the soft dark leather. "Oh God... Alfred..." he sobbed, grief striking him down harder and faster than it ever did with Francis. "Alfred...!"

He never heard the footsteps coming up the stairs or crunch over the glass.

Suddenly, a darkness blinded him, covered in a claustrophobic nightmare. The jacket was wrested from his arms and he was manhandled by two, no three, people. He kicked and struggled, yowling and fighting with everything he had to get away from his assailants. Then something hard and heavy crashed into his brow, throwing him out of consciousness and into inky blackness.

~o~

Arthur awoke slowly, his head pounding as though a mallet were knocking against his brain. Dizzy and exhausted, he looked up and found himself staring up at a cold stone ceiling with high barred windows. Unable to stay conscious any longer, he fell back to darkness.

~o~

When the author next awoke, the pain in his head had dulled into a low throb where he was struck. Groaning, he pushed himself up to a sit to take a proper look around him. It looked as though he were in some sort of cell. A small stony cell with an uncomfortable metal bed and thin mattress. He wasn't even in his own clothes, dressed in gray sack cloth. Then he noticed that his feet were wrapped up in bandages. No doubt thanks to the glass...

"Hello?" he called out, swinging his legs down to the floor. He hissed when he went to his feet and quickly had to give up. "Hello!" he called out again, trying to look for some movement or sound past the metal slat door. Nothing answered him. Then he noticed the little tray of bread and water on the table next to his bed.

Well, clearly whoever had him here didn't want him to starve.

In no mood to eat, Arthur picked up the loaf of bread (it was hard as a rock) and tossed it at the door. "HEY! Where am I!" he shouted. "Who the fuck are you! What did you do with Alfred!"

Again, no one answered save for the dull echo of the thud of the bread against the door. Growling to himself, Arthur tossed himself back onto the bed and curled up against the little pillow provided for him. His mind whirled back to the last events he could remember, though it had all seemed like some horrible nightmare. His green eyes flicked up to the gray ceiling. The prison cell was a good reminder that this was not a dream.

His stomach lurched as he remembered his lover turning into that _monster._ The jaws, the hands, the fur, those _eyes..._ His mind immediately went to Vlad. Vlad had red eyes as well. Did he have something to do with this? It was inconceivable, but with the _timing_ it all made sense. All the physical changes, the supposed "cure", the sudden increase in aggression, the pulling away?

_I introduced them..._ he realized and he thought that he might be sick.

~o~

A whole four days passed in complete quiet in the cell. Arthur's body unpleasantly purged itself of any want of alcohol. Though he quickly realized that the water was drugged. Whomever was keeping here didn't care to show themselves for now, for whatever reason, no matter how much he ranted and raved at the door. He managed to prop up the bed against the barred windows, but all he saw outside was foliage. Clearly his screaming wasn't attracting any attention whatsoever either.

On the bright side, his headaches were completely gone. Though it only confirmed his suspicions that Alfred had everything to do with them.

Finally, on the fifth day, when Arthur was curled on his thin mattress sick with guilt and worry, he heard footsteps thudding down the corridor towards his room. He unwrapped himself from the wall and sat up properly to make himself presentable for his would-be captors. Oh, he had many, _many_ words for them when they got here...

Keys clinked outside and the metal door swung open on ear-piercing hinges. Arthur opened his mouth to tell them off, but he ended up slack jawed instead. A familiar Captain from the NYPD stood in the doorway, his hands tucked behind his back. "Arthur Kirkland," Captain Ludwig said with a curt nod. "You will want to come with me."

~o~

Mercifully, Arthur was not made to walk on his injured feet. Instead Ludwig pushed him down the graffiti-covered stone hallways in a wheelchair. Observing his surroundings, Arthur deduced that he was likely in some abandoned prison or asylum. He didn't see another soul around. Somehow where no one was aware of the decidedly shady goings on in this particular establishment. Why this place wasn't filled with homeless or gangs was a baffling mystery.

Ludwig pushed him into a large room and he was surprised to see that it was set up with the furnishings of a modern conference room, with a projector, screen, table and chairs filled with a number of foreign faces. There were only four of them, including Ludwig. There wasn't any uniformity to them as they dressed in business casual attire. They were also overall remarkably unimpressive. Aside from Ludwig, Arthur had a difficult time distinguishing them.

"Arthur, these are my colleagues," Ludwig said, gesturing over to the small group. Arthur highly doubted that Ludwig meant the NYPD. "Everyone, this is Arthur Kirkland." Everyone gave a nod and Arthur returned it with one of his own. He couldn't stop thinking about how bizarre this entire situation was. He should rightly be calling them all kidnappers. One of the colleagues, Ludwig introduced him as Eduard, came up to the head of the table.

"You no doubt have questions," he said, which Arthur thought was bloody obvious. Eduard took a long breath, steadying himself for his explanation. "You should know that there are dark forces at work in this world. The like of which that humankind is unaware of in everyday life..."

Oh _God_.

"Please, spare the theatrics," Arthur cut in quickly before Eduard droned on like one of the horrible novels he'd written early on in his career. "Who exactly are you?"

Eduard seemed taken aback by this. Ruffled, he answered nonetheless. "We are a secret society of the highest order. We call ourselves the Watchers. We have looked out for humanity for countless eons battling the forces of-"

"_And why were you in my house?_" Arthur cut in quickly again, his impatience rising. Eduard cast a helpless glance over in Ludwig's direction.

Ludwig coughed into his fist and then briefly explained. "We are Watchers because we watch for the activities of the supernatural. It is our duty to exterminate them when they prove dangerous to humankind. We had our eye on one supernatural in particular in the area," Ludwig said, nodding for one of his companions to turn on the projector. The image of Vladimir Negrescu came on the screen. In some strange way, Arthur wasn't the least bit surprised. "He is unique. We have yet to properly classify what he is as there has never been another like him. He controls and feeds off of the powers of other supernatural creatures, extending his own life and increasing his power. Eventually, he kills them."

A sharp chill of dread ran down Arthur's spine and he _knew_ what Ludwig would say next.

Folding his hands in front of him, the Captain turned back to the author. "This brings us to why you were attacked. Negrescu has already gotten his hands on his newest conquest. This may come as a surprise but your partner, Alfred Jones, is-"

"-a vampire," Arthur finished.

Now even Ludwig stared at him in shock. "How did you...?" he asked.

"I guessed," the author replied honestly, letting out a faintly hysterical laugh. "Though to be fair, it was a rather educated guess. Burns in the sun, never eats, only goes out a night? Makes sense now, doesn't it? Oh, and there was also the whole _turning into a giant mutant bat_ in front of my eyes!"

All the Watchers were giving him wary looks, as if expecting Arthur to crack up at any second. "...You seem to be taking this rather well...?" one of the Watchers commented.

Arthur shrugged helplessly. What could he say? That it all made too much sense, despite how _impossible_ it all sounded? That he'd always been prone to a rather overactive imagination anyway? "I think..." he said in a slightly less crazed tone, "I had always suspected that was the case. You know, I'm pretty sure I saw him drinking blood one time..." he muttered mostly to himself.

Suddenly he looked up to the group, the vivid memory of Alfred's cry of pain came back at him like a punch to the gut. "_What did you do to him?_" he hissed, eyes flashing in hatred.

"He escaped the scene after we shot at him," Ludwig answered. After a pause, he said, "Mr. Kirkland, we have nothing personal against him. We have been watching him for a very long time. He proved himself _mostly_ harmless when given the right tools to survive. Ivan Braginsky was watching over him and assisted in his assimilation."

Arthur sucked in a breath and closed his eyes. And he went and killed the one person actually looking out for him. Another mark against him... "I see," he spoke hoarsely.

"Recently it became plain to our eyes that Negrescu has taken Jones under his control. Our predecessors have let Negrescu do this before because he was only harming other supernaturals," Ludwig explained, seemingly not at all bothered that Arthur had murdered his colleague. "However, now he is using Jones to kill human beings. Something which we cannot abide by. One of those we suspect was your friend Francis Bonnefoy."

The hair. _The blond hair._

"And who was supposed to be watching him?!" Arthur snapped, his anger roaring to life. "You useless fuckers! You could have stopped Francis from dying!" God, and kept Alfred from _murdering_ him.

"I was," Ludwig broke in, his voice hard. "There are very few of us. Not enough to keep track of everyone." Then his voice softened a beat. "I do apologize, truly, for your loss. You are right. His death should never have occurred on my watch. Yet we hadn't realized what Negrescu was doing with Jones until it was too late."

"And what _is_ he doing?" Arthur demanded. "Alfred's only gotten stronger since he's met Vlad. Not weaker. Contrary to what you say about him."

"He is likely forcing Jones to kill humans in order to make Jones as strong as an old-age vampire. So that Jones will be at peak strength before Negrescu drains him. The process requires slaying at least one human a night." Ludwig gave Arthur a hard look. "The fact that you remain alive is baffling, given that you were within such easy reach."

A door suddenly slammed open behind them, making them all jump. Arthur pivoted in his seat and he received his second shock of the day when he saw a familiar looming form stalk into the room.

"Zat is because Alfred is one vith Arzur," Ivan Braginsky said, in the full flesh. He looked none the worse for being shot twice and left for dead. "Zey are lovers. Alfred instinctly made him go sleeping, before Vladimir make him killing at night. Alfred is sentimental fool to ze very end." Ivan glanced over in Arthur's direction and gave the author a nod. "Arzur."

Arthur weakly returned the nod, visibly shaken. "Ivan," he said. "...Sorry for shooting you."

Ivan merely shrugged. "Niet. Is nozing." He turned back to the rest of the group. "Alfred is now totally under Vladimir's control. He has not returning to normal since zat night," he said with a small inclination in Arthur's direction. "He is at Vladimir's mercy."

"Then we need to save him!" Arthur cried out, slamming a hand against the table. "You said it yourself! Alfred is one of the good ones. He deserves saving. I'm the one who put Vlad onto his trail in the first place! I will take responsibility for him!"

Ivan smirked knowingly over in Ludwig's direction. Arthur didn't care what they thought, even though a faint blush tracked up his neck and to his ears. He still stood firm. Ludwig coughed into his fist and then responded lightly, "To be honest, we were hoping that you would reach that conclusion. It is somewhat of a relief that you are accepting this all so easily."

"Oh, not _easily_," Arthur replied with a dark laugh, his green eyes glittering with a manic glint. "You just told me that my boyfriend has essentially been lying to me since we met. Believe me, once I find him I will strangle him myself." And then hold him, and kiss him, and cry for him for everything that he had been through.

But definitely strangling him first.

"So you will join the Watchers?" Eduard asked, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Arthur's face soured at the suggestion. "I'm sorry. You want me to join the wankers who managed to let my grade school friend get killed and my boyfriend brainwashed by some supernatural fiend? _And _kidnapped me from my home?"

"Is that a no?" one of the Watchers asked meekly.

To which, Arthur replied primly, "That would be a _Fuck No._"


End file.
